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THE HOUSE 
OE THE 
WOLE 

rMlWAW) 

I ' 

/ 

WEYMAN 


PHILADELPHIA 
HENRV ALTEMUS 


O 5 ? 






Copyrighted by Henry Alt emus, of Philadelphia, in the State of Pennsyl- 
vania, on June iq, i Sqy , in the One Hundred and Twenly-frst Year 
of the Independence of the United States of America. 


Henry Altemus, Manufacturer, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


INTRODUCTION 


The following is a modern English version of a 
curious French memoir, or fragment of autobiog- 
raphy, apparently written about the year 1620 
by Anne, Vicomte de Caylus, and brought to this 
country — if, in fact, the original ever existed in 
England — by one of his descendants after the 
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. This Anne, 
we learn from other sources, was a principal 
figure at the Court of Henry IV., and, therefore, 
in August, 1572, when the adventures here 
related took place, he and his two younger 
brothers, Marie and Croisette, who shared with 
him the honor and the danger, must have been 
little more than boys. From the tone of his nar- 
rative, it appears that, in reviving old recollec- 
tions, the veteran renewed his youth also, and 
though his story throws no fresh light upon the 
history of the time, it seems to possess some 
human interest. 


3 




THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


CHAPTER I. 

WARE WOLF! 

I had afterwards such good reason to look 
back upon and remember the events of that after- 
noon, that Catherine’s voice seems to ring in my 
brain even now. I can shut my eyes and see 
again, after all these years, what I saw then— just 
the blue summer sky, and one gray angle of the 
keep, from which a fleecy cloud was trailing like 
the smoke from a chimney. I could see no more 
because I was lying on my back, my head rest- 
ing on my hands. Marie and Croisette, my 
brothers, were lying by me in exactly the same 
posture, and a few yards away on the terrace, 
Catherine was sitting on a stool Gil had brought 
out for her. It was the second Thursday in 
August, and hot. Even the jackdaws were silent 
I had almost fallen asleep, watching my cloud 
grow longer and longer, and thinner and thinner, 
when Croisette, who cared for heat no more than 

$ 


6 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


a lizard, spoke up sharply, “Mademoiselle, 
he said, “why are you watching the Cahors 
road ? ” 

I had not noticed that she was doing so. But 
something in the keenness of Croisette’s tone, 
taken perhaps with the fact that Catherine did 
not at once answer him, aroused me; and I 
turned to her. And lo ! she was blushing in the 
most heavenly way, and her eyes were full of 
tears, and she looked at us adorably. And we 
all three sat up on our elbows, like three puppy 
dogs, and looked at her. And there was a long 
silence. And then she said quite simply to us, 
“Boys, I am going to be married to M. de Pa- 
vannes.” 

I fell flat on my back and spread out my arms. 
“ Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” I cried reproachfully. 

“Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” cried Marie. And he 
fell flat on his back, and spread out his arms and 
moaned. He was a good brother, was Marie, 
and obedient. 

And Croisette cried, “Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” too. 
But he was always ridiculous in his ways. He 
fell flat on his back, and flopped his arms and 
squealed like a pig. 

Yet he was sharp. It was he who first remem- 
bered our duty, and went to Catherine, cap in 
hand, where she sat half angry and half confused, 
and said, with a fine redness in his cheeks, 
“ Mademoiselle de Caylus, our cousin, we give 
you joy, and wish you long life ; and are your 


WARE WOLE! 7 

servants and the good friends and aiders of M. 
de Pavannes in all quarrels, as ” 

But I could not stand that. “Not so fast, St. 
Croix de Caylus,” I said, pushing him aside — he 
was ever getting before me in those days — and 
taking his place. Then with my best bow I be- 
gan, “Mademoiselle, we give you joy and long 
life, and are your servants and the good friends 
and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as — 
as — ” 

“As becomes the cadets of your house,” sug- 
gested Croisette, softly. 

“As becomes the cadets of your house,” I re- 
peated. And then Catherine stood up and made 
me a low bow and we all kissed her hand in 
turn, beginning with me and ending with Croi- 
sette, as was becoming. Afterwards Catherine 
threw her handkerchief over her face — she was 
crying — and we three sat down, Turkish fashion, 
just where we were, and said, “Oh, Kit ! ” very 
softly. 

But presently Croisette had something to add. 
“ What will the Wolf say ? ” he whispered to me. 

“Ah! To be sure!” I exclaimed aloud. I 
had been thinking of myself before ; but this 
opened quite another window. “What will the 
Vidame say, Kit?” 

She dropped her kerchief from her face, and 
turned so pale that I was sorry I had spoken — 
apart from the kick Croisette gave me. “Is M. 
de Bezers at his house ? ” she asked anxiously. 


8 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“ Yes,” Croisette answered. “He came in 
last night from St. Antonin, with very small at- 
tendance.” 

The news seemed to set her fears at rest in- 
stead of augmenting them as I should have ex- 
pected. I suppose they were rather for Louis de 
Pavannes than for herself. Not unnaturally, 
too, for even the Wolf could scarcely have found 
it in his heart to hurt our cousin. Her slight 
willowy figure, her pale oval face and gentle 
brown eyes, her pleasant voice, her kindness, 
seemed to us boys, and in those days, to sum up 
all that was womanly. We could not remember, 
not even Croisette the youngest of us — who was 
seventeen, a year junior to Marie and myself— 
we were twins — the time when we had not been 
in love with her. 

But let me explain how we four, whose united 
ages scarce exceeded seventy years, came to be 
lounging on the terrace in the holiday stillness of 
that afternoon. It was the summer of 1572. 
The great peace, it will be remembered, between 
the Catholics and the Huguenots had not long 
been declared ; the peace which in a day or two 
was to be solemnized, and, as most Frenchmen 
hoped, to be cemented by the marriage of Henry 
of Navarre with Margaret of Valois, the King's 
sister. The Vicomte de Caylus, Catherine’s father 
and our guardian, was one of the governors ap- 
pointed to see the peace enforced ; the respect in 
which he was held by both parties — he was a 


WARE WOLF 




Catholic, but no bigot, God rest his soul ! — rec- 
ommending him for this employment. He had 
therefore gone a week or two before to Bayonne, 
his province. Most of our neighbors in Quercy 
were likewise from home, having gone to Paris 
to be witnesses on one side or the other of the 
royal wedding. And consequently we young 
people, not greatly checked by the presence of 
good-natured, sleepy Madame Claude, Catherine’s 
duenna, were disposed to make the most of our 
liberty, and to celebrate the peace in our own 
fashion. 

We were country-folk. Not one of us had been 
to Pau, much less to Paris. The Vicomte held 
stricter views than were common then, upon 
young people’s education ; and though we had 
learned to ride and shoot, to use our swords and 
toss a hawk, and to read and write, we knew 
little more than Catherine herself of the world ; 
little more of the pleasures and sins of court life, 
and not one-tenth as much as she did of its 
graces. Still she had taught us to dance and 
make a bow. Her presence had softened our 
manners ; and of late we had gained something 
from the frank companionship of Louis de Pavan- 
nes, a Huguenot whom the Vicomte had taken 
prisoner at Moncontour and held to ransom. We 
were not, I think, mere clownish yokels. 

But we were shy. We disliked and shunned 
strangers. And when old Gil appeared suddenly, 
while we were still chewing the melancholy cud 


10 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


of Kit’s announcement, and cried sepulchrally, 
“M. le Vidame de Bezers to pay his respects to 
Mademoiselle ! ” — Well, there was something like 
a panic, I confess ! 

We scrambled to our feet, muttering, “The 
Wolf ! ” The entrance at Caylus is by a ramp 
rising from the gateway to the level of the ter- 
race. This sunken way is fenced by low walls 
so that one may not — when walking on the ter- 
race — fall into it. Gil had spoken before his head 
had well risen to view, and this gave us a mo- 
ment, just a moment. Croisette made a rush for 
the doorway into the house ; but failed to gain 
it, and drew himself up behind a buttress of the 
tower, his finger on his lip. I am slow some* 
times, and Marie waited for me, so that we had 
barely got to our legs — looking, I dare say, awk- 
ward and ungainly enough — before the Vidame’s 
shadow fell darkly on the ground at Catherine’s 
feet. 

“Mademoiselle!” he said, advancing to her 
through the sunshine, and bending over her 
slender hand with a magnificent grace that v r as 
born of his size and manner combined, “ I rode 
in late last night from Toulouse; and I go 
to-morrow to Paris. I have but rested and 
washed off the stains of travel that I may lay 
my — ah ! ” 

He seemed to see us for the first time and 
negligently broke off in his compliment ; raising 
himself and saluting us. “Ah,” he continued in- 


WARE WOLF! 


IX 


dolently, “ two of the maidens of Caylus, I see. 
With an odd pair of hands apiece, unless I am 
mistaken. Why do you not set them spinning, 
Mademoiselle ? ” and he regarded us with that 
smile which — with other things as evil — had 
made him famous. 

Croisette pulled horrible faces behind his back. 
We looked hotly at him ; but could find nothing 
to say. 

“You grow red!” he went on, pleasantly — 
the wretch ! — playing with us as a cat does with 
mice. “It offends your dignity, perhaps, that I 
bid Mademoiselle set you spinning? I now 
would spin at Mademoiselle’s bidding, and think 
it happiness ! ” 

“We are not girls!” I blurted out, with the 
flush and tremor of a boy’s passion. “You had 
not called my godfather, Anne de Montmorenci, a 
girl, M. le Vidame ! ” For though we counted it a 
joke among ourselves that we all bore girls' 
names, we were young enough to be sensitive 
about it. 

He shrugged his shoulders. And how he 
dwarfed us all as he stood there dominating our 
terrace ! “ M. de Montmorenci was a man,” he 

said scornfully. “ M. Anne de Caylus is ” 

And the villain deliberately turned his great 
back upon us, taking his seat on the low wall 
near Catherine’s chair. It was clear even to our 
vanity that he did not think 11s worth another 
word — that we had passed absolutely from his 


12 


THE HOUSE OF THE IVOLF 


mind Madame Claude came waddling out at 
the same moment, Gil carrying a chair behind 
her. And we — well we slunk away and sat on 
the other side of the terrace, whence we could 
still glower at the offender. 

Yet who were we to glower at him ? To this 
day I shake at the thought of him. It was not 
so much his height and bulk, though he was so 
big that the clipped pointed fashion of his beard 
— a fashion then new at court — seemed on him 
incongruous and effeminate ; nor so much the 
sinister glance of his gray eyes — he had a slight 
cast in them ; nor the grim suavity of his man- 
ner, and the harsh threatening voice that permit- 
ted of no disguise. It was the sum of these 
things, the great brutal presence of the man — that 
was overpowering — that made the great falter 
and the poor crouch. And then his reputation ! 
Though we knew little of the world’s wickedness, 
all we did know had come to us linked with his 
name. We had heard of him as a duellist, as a 
bully, an employer of bravos. At Jarnac he had 
been the last to turn from the shambles. Men 
tailed him cruel and vengeful even for those days 
—gone by now, thank God 1 — and whispered his 
*iame when they spoke of assassinations ; saying 
commonly of him that he would not blench be- 
fore a Guise, nor blush before the Virgin. 

Such was our visitor and neighbor, Raoul de 
Mar, Vidame de Bezers. As he sat on the ter- 
race, now eveing us askance, and now paying 


WARE WOLF f 


13 


Catherine a compliment, I likened him to a great 
cat before which a butterfly has all unwittingly 
flirted her prettiness. Poor Catherine ! No doubt 
she had her own reasons for uneasiness ; more 
reasons I fancy than I then guessed. For she 
seemed to have lost her voice. She stammered 
and made but poor replies ; and Madame Claude 
being deaf and stupid, and we boys too timid 
after the rebuff we had experienced to fill the gap, 
the conversation languished. The Vidame was 
not for his part the man to put himself out on a 
hot day. 

It was after one of these pauses — not the first 
but the longest — that I started on finding his eyes 
fixed on mine. More, I shivered. It is hard to 
describe, but there was a look in the Vidame’s 
eyes at that moment which I had never seen be- 
fore. A look of pain almost : of dumb savage 
alarm at any rate. From me they passed slowly 
to Marie and mutely interrogated him. Then the 
Vidame’s glance travelled back to Catherine, and 
settled on her. 

Only a moment before she had been but too 
conscious of his presence. Now, as it chanced 
by bad luck, or in the course of Providence, 
something had drawn her attention elsewhere. 
She was unconscious of his regard. Her own 
eyes were fixed in a far-away gaze. Her color 
was high, her lips were parted, her bosom heaved 
gently. 

The shadow deepened on the Vidame’s face. 


14 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Slowly he took his eyes from hers, and looked 
northwards also. 

Caylus Castle stands on a rock in the middle of 
the narrow valley of that name. The town clus- 
ters about the ledges of the rock so closely that 
when I was a boy I could fling a stone clear of 
the houses. The hills are scarcely five hundred 
yards distant on either side, rising in tamer 
colors from the green fields about the brook. It 
is possible from the terrace to see the whole val- 
ley, and the road which passes through it length- 
wise. Catherines eyes were on the northern 
extremity of the defile, where the highway from 
Cahors descends from the uplands. She had 
been sitting with her face turned that way all the 
afternoon. 

I looked that way too. A solitary horseman 
was descending the steep track from the hills. 

“Mademoiselle ! ” cried the Vidame suddenly. 
We all looked up. His tone was such that the 
color fled from Kit’s face. There was some- 
thing in his voice she had never heard in any. 
voice before — something that to a woman was 
like a blow. “ Mademoiselle,” he snarled, “is 
expecting news from Cahors, from her lover. I 
have the honor to congratulate M. de Pavannes 
on his conquest.” 

Ah ! he had guessed it ! As the words fell on 
the sleepy silence, an insult in themselves, I 
sprang to my feet, amazed and angry, yet as- 
tounded by his quickness of sight and wit. He 


WARE WOLF ! 


*5 

must have recognized the Pavannes badge at that 
distance. “ M. le Vidame,’' I said indignantly — 
Catherine was white and voiceless — “M. le Vi- 
dame ” but there I stopped and faltered stam- 

mering. For behind him I could see Croisette ; 
and Croisette gave me no sign of encouragement 
or support. 

So we stood face to face for a moment ; the 
boy and the man of the world, the stripling and 
the roue. Then the Vidame bowed to me in quite 
a new fashion. “ M. Anne de Caylus desires to 
answer for M. de Pavannes ? ” heaskedsmoothly; 
with a mocking smoothness. 

I understood what he meant. But something 
prompted me — Croisette said afterwards that it 
was a happy thought, though now I know the 
crisis to have been less serious than he fancied 
• — to answer, “Nay, not for M. de Pavannes. 
Rather for my cousin.” And I bowed. “ I have 
the honor on her behalf to acknowledge your 
congratulations, M. le Vidame. It pleases her 
that our nearest neighbor should also be the first 
outside the family to wish her well. You have 
divined truly in supposing that she will shortly be 
united to M. de Pavannes.” 

I suppose — for I saw the giant’s color change 
and his lip quiver as I spoke— that his previous 
words had been only a guess. Fora moment the 
devil seemed to be glaring through his eyes ; and 
he looked at Marie and me as a wild animal at 
its keepers. Yet he maintained his cynical polite- 


l6 THE HOUSE Of THE WOLF 

ness in part. “Mademoiselle desires my con» 
gratulations ? ” he said, slowly, laboring with 
each word it seemed. “She shall have them on 
the happy day. She shall certainly have them 
then. But these are troublous times. And 
Mademoiselle's betrothed is I think a Huguenot, 
and has gone to Paris. Paris — well, the air of 
Paris is not good for Huguenots, I am told." 

I saw Catherine shiver ; indeed she was on the 
point of fainting. I broke in rudely, my passion 
getting the better of my fears. “ M. de Pavannes 
can take care of himself, believe me," I said 
brusquely. 

“Perhaps so," Bezers answered, his voice like 
the grating of steel on steel. “ But at any rate 
this will be a memorable day for Mademoiselle. 
The day on which she receives her first congratu- 
lations — she will remember it as long as she lives ! 
Oh, yes, I will answer for that, M. Anne," he 
said, looking brightly at one and another of us, 
his eyes more oblique than ever, “Mademoiselle 
will remember it, I am sure ! " 

It would be impossible to describe the devilish 
glance he flung at the poor sinking girl as he 
withdrew, the horrid emphasis he threw into those 
last words, the covert deadly threat they conveyed 
to the dullest ears. That he went then was 
small mercy. He had done all the evil he could 
do at present. If his desire had been to leave 
fear behind him, he had certainly succeeded. 

Kit, crying softly, went into the house ; her 


WARE WOLF ! 


1 7 


innocent coquetry more than sufficiently punished 
already. And we three looked at one another 
with blank faces. It was clear that we had made 
a dangerous enemy, and an enemy at our own 
gates. As the Vidame had said, these were 
troublous times when things were done to men — 
ay, and to women and children — which we scarce 
dare to speak of now. “ I wish the Vicomte 
were here,” Croisette said uneasily after we had 
discussed several unpleasant contingencies. 

“Or even Malines the steward,” I suggested. 

“He would not be much good,” replied 
Croisette. “And he is at St. Antonin, and will not 
be back this week. Father Pierre too is at Albi.” 

“You do not think,” said Marie, “ that he will 
| attack us ? ” 

“Certainly not!” Croisette retorted with con- 
: tempt. “ Even the Vidame would not dare to do 
I that in time of peace. Besides, he has not half a 
score of men here,” continued the lad, shrewdly, 
“ and counting old Gil and ourselves we have as 
many. And Pavannes always said that three 
men could hold the gate at the bottom of the 
I ramp against a score. Oh, he will not try that !” 

“ Certainly not ! ” I agreed. And so we crushed 
Marie. “But for Louis de Pavannes ” 

Catherine interrupted me. She came out 
quickly, looking a different person ; her face 
(flushed with anger, her tears dried. 

“Anne!” she cried, imperiously, “what is 
the matter down below —will you see?” 


IS THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

I had no difficulty in doing that. All the 
sounds of town life came up to us on the ter- 
race. Lounging there we could hear the chaf- 
fering over the wheat measures in the cloisters 
of the market-square, the yell of a dog, the voice 
of a scold, the church bell, the watchman’s cry. 
I had only to step to the wall to overlook it all. 
On this summer afternoon the town had been for 
the most part very quiet. If we had not been 
engaged in our own affairs we should have taken 
the alarm before, remarking in the silence the 
first beginnings of what was now a very respect- 
able tumult. It swelled louder even as we 
stepped to the wall. 

We could see — a bend in the street laying it 
open — part of the Vidame’s house ; the gloomy 
square hold which had come to him from his 
mother. His own chateau of Bezers lay faraway 
in Franche Comte, but of late he had shown a 
preference — Catherine could best account for it, 
perhaps — for this mean house in Caylus. It was 
the only house in the town which did not belong 
to us. It was known as the House of the Wolf, 
and was a grim stone building surrounding a 
courtyard. Rows of wolves’ heads carved in 
stone flanked the windows, whence their bare 
fangs grinned day and night at the church porch 
opposite. 

The noise drew our eyes in this direction ; and 
there lolling in a window over the door, looking 
Out on the street with a laughing eye, was Bezers 


WARE WOLF ! 


19 

himself. The cause of his merriment — we had 
not far to look for it — was a horseman who was 
riding up the street under difficulties. He was 
reining in his steed — no easy task on that steep 
greasy pavement — so as to present some front to 
a score or so of ragged knaves who were follow- 
ing close at his heels, hooting and throwing mud 
and pebbles at him. The man had drawn his 
sword, and his oaths came up to us, mingled with 
shrill cries of “ Vive la messe !” and half drowned 
by the clattering of the horse’s hoofs. We saw a 
stone strike him in the face, and draw blood, and 
heard him swear louder than before. 

“Oh!” cried Catherine, clasping her hands 
with a sudden shriek of indignation, “ my letter ! 
They will get my letter ! ” 

“ Death ! ” exclaimed Croisette. “ She is right ! 
It is M. de Pavannes’ courier ! This must be 
stopped ! We cannot stand this, Anne ! ” 

“They shall pay dearly for it, by our Lady ! ” 
I cried, swearing myself. “And in peace time 
too — the villains ! Gil ! Francis ! ” I shouted, 
“ where are you ? ” 

And I looked round for my fowling-piece, while 
Croisette jumped upon the wall, and forming a 
trumpet with his hands, shrieked at the top of 
his voice, “Back ! he bears a letter from the 
Vicomte ! ” 

But the device did not succeed, and I could not 
find my gun. For a moment we were helpless, 
and before I could have fetched the gun from the 


20 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


house, the horseman and the hooting rabble at 
his heels had turned a corner and were hidden 
by the roofs. 

Another turn however would bring them out in 
front of the gateway, and seeing this we hurried 
down the ramp to meet them. I stayed a mo- 
ment to tell Gil to collect the servants, and, this 
keeping me, Croisette reached the narrow street 
outside before me. As I followed him I was 
nearly knocked down by the rider, whose face 
was covered with dirt and blood, while fright had 
rendered his horse unmanageable. Darting aside 
I let him pass — he was blinded and could not see 
me — and then found that Croisette — brave lad ! — 
had collared the foremost of the ruffians, and was 
beating him with his sheathed sword, while the 
rest of the rabble stood back, ashamed, yet 
sullen, and with anger in their eyes. A danger- 
ous crew, I thought ; not townsmen, most of 
them. 

“ Down with the Huguenots ! ” cried one, as I 
appeared, one bolder than the rest. 

“Down with the canaille!” I retorted, sternly 
eyeing the ill-looking ring. “ Will you set your- 
selves above the king’s peace, dirt that you are ? 
Go back to your kennels ! ” 

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, 
before I saw that the fellow whom Croisette 
was punishing had got hold of a dagger. I 
shouted a warning, but it came too late. The 
blade fell, and — thanks to God — striking the 


WARE WOLF! 


21 


buckle of the lad’s belt, glanced off harmless. I 
saw the steel flash up again — saw the spite in the 
man’s eyes : but this time I was a step nearer, 
and before the weapon fell, I passed my sword 
clean through the wretch’s body. He went 
down like a log, Croisette falling with him held 
fast by his stiffening fingers. 

I had never killed a man before, nor seen a 
man die ; and if I had stayed to think about it, I 
should have fallen sick perhaps. But it was no 
time for thought; no time for sickness. The 
crowd were close upon us, a line of flushed 
theatening faces from wall to wall. A single 
glance downwards told me that the man was 
dead, and I set my foot upon his neck. 
“ Hounds ! Beasts !” I cried, not loudly this 
time, for though I was like one possessed with 
rage, it was inward rage, “ go to your kennels 1 
Will you dare to raise a hand against a Caylus ? 
Go — or when the Vicomte returns, a dozen of 
you shall hang in the market place !” 

I suppose I looked fierce enough — I know I 
felt no fear, only a strange exaltation — for they 
slunk away. Unwillingly, but with little delay 
the group melted, Bezers’ following — of whom I 
knew the dead man was one — the last to go. 
While I still glared at them, lo ! the street was 
empty; the last had disappeared round the bend. 
I turned to find Gil and half-a-dozen servants 
standing with pale faces at my back. Croisette 
seized my hand with a sob. “ Oh, my lord,’’ 


22 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


cried Gil, quaveringly. But I shook one off, I 
frowned at the other. 

“Take up this carrion ! ” I said, touching it 
with my foot, “and hang it from the justice-elm. 
And then close the gates ! See to it, knaves, aud 
lose no time/' 


THE VIDAMES THEE AT 


23 . 


CHAPTER II. 

THE VIDAME’S THREAT. 

Croisette used to tell a story, of the facts of 
which I have no remembrance, save as a bad 
dream. He would have it that I left my pallet 
that night — I had one to myself in the summer, 
being the eldest, while he and Marie slept on an- 
other in the same room — and came to him and 
awoke him, sobbing and shaking and clutching 
him ; and begging him in a fit of terror not to let 
me go. And that so I slept in his arms until 
morning. But as I have said, I do not remember 
anything of this, only that I had an ugly dream 
that night, and that when I awoke I was lying 
with him and Marie ; so I cannot say whether 
it really happened. 

At any rate, if I had any feeling of the kind it 
did not last long ; on the contrary — it would be 
idle to deny it — I was flattered by the sudden 
respect Gil and the servants showed me. What 
Catherine thought of the matter I could not tell. 
She had her letter and apparently found it satis- 
factory. At any rate we saw nothing of her. 
Madame Claude was busy boiling simples, and 


24 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLE 


tending* the messenger’s hurts. And it seemed 
natural that I should take command. 

There could be no doubt — at any rate we had 
none — that the assault on the courier had taken 
place at the Vidame’s instance. The only won- 
der was that he had not simply cut his throat and 
taken the letter. But looking back now it seems 
to me that grown men mingled some childishness 
with their cruelty in those days — days when the 
religious wars had aroused our worst passions. 
It was not enough to kill an enemy. It pleased 
people to make — I speak literally — a football of 
his head, to throw his heart to the dogs. And no 
doubt it had fallen in with the Vidame’s grim 
humor that the bearer of Pavannes’ first love- 
letter should enter his mistress’s presence, bleed- 
ing and plaistered with mud. And that the riff- 
raff about our own gates should have part in the 
insult. 

Bezers’ wrath would be little abated by the 
issue of the affair, or the justice I had done on 
one of his men. So we looked well to bolts, and 
bars, and windows, although the castle is well- 
nigh impregnable, the smooth rock falling twenty 
feet at least on every side from the base of the 
walls. The gatehouse, Pavannes had shown us, 
might be blown up with gunpowder indeed, but 
we prepared to close the iron grating which 
barred the way half-way up the ramp. This done, 
even if the enemy should succeed in forcing an 
entrance he would only find himself caught in 


THE V IB AM HS THEE AT 


2 5 


trap — in a steep, narrow way exposed to a fire 
from the top of the flanking walls, as well as from 
the front. We had a couple of culverins, which 
the Vicomte had got twenty years before, at the 
time of the battle of St. Quentin. We fixed one 
of these at the head of the ramp, and placed the 
other on the terrace, where by moving it a few 
paces forward we could train it on Bezers’ house, 
which thus lay at our mercy. 

Not that we really expected an attack. But we 
did not know what to expect or what to fear. 
We had not ten servants, the Vicomte having 
taken a score of the sturdiest lackeys and keepers 
to attend him at Bayonne. And we felt im- 
mensely responsible. Our main hope was that the 
Vidame would at once go on to Paris, and post- 
pone his vengeance. So again and again we 
cast longing glances at the House of the Wolf, 
hoping that each symptom of bustle heralded his 
departure. 

Consequently it was a shock to me, and a 
great downfall of hopes, when Gil with a grave 
face came to me on the terrace and announced 
that M. le Vidame was at the gate, asking to see 
Mademoiselle. 

“It is out of the question that he should see 
her,” the old servant added, scratching his head 
in grave perplexity. 

“ Most certainly. I will see him instead,” 
I answered stoutly. “Do you leave Francis 
and another at the gate, Gil. Marie, keep 


26 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


within sight, lad. And let Croisette stay with 

me. ” 

These preparations made — and they took up 
scarcely a moment — I met the Vidame at the 
head of the ramp. “ Mademoiselle de Caylus,” I 
said, bowing, “is, I regret to say, indisposed to- 
day, Vidame/’ 

“She will not see me?” he asked, eyeing me 
very unpleasantly. 

“ Her indisposition deprives her of the 
pleasure,” I answered with an effort. He was 
certainly a wonderful man, for at sight of him 
three-fourths of my courage, and all my impor- 
tance, oozed out at the heels of my boots. 

“ She will not see me. Very well,” he replied, 
as if I had not spoken. And the simple words 
sounded like a sentence of death. “ Then, M. 
Anne, I have a crow to pick with you. What 
compensation do you propose to make for the 
death of my servant? A decent, quiet fellow, 
whom you killed yesterday, poor man, because 
his enthusiasm for the true faith carried him away 
a little.” 

“ Whom I killed because he drew a dagger on 
M. St. Croix de Caylus at the Vicomte’s gate,” I 
answered steadily. I had thought about this of 
course and was ready for it. “You are aware, 
M. de Bezers,” I continued, “that the Vicomte 
has jurisdiction extending to life and death over 
all persons within the valley ? ” 

“My household excepted,” he rejoined quietly. 


THE VIDA ME' S THREAT 


27 


“ Precisely ; while they are within the curtilage 
of your house,” I retorted. “ However as the 
punishment was summary, and the man had no 

time to confess himself, I am willing to ” 

‘Well?” 

“To pay Father Pierre to say ten masses for 
his soul. ” 

The way the Vidame received this surprised 
me. He broke into boisterous laughter. “By 
our Lady, my friend,” he cried with rough merri- 
ment, “but you are a joker ! You are indeed. 
Masses ? Why the man was a Protestant ! ” 

And that startled me more than anything 
which had gone before ; more indeed than I can 
explain. For it seemed to prove that this man, 
laughing his unholy laugh, was not like other 
men. He did not pick and choose his servants 
for their religion. He was sure that the Hugue- 
not would stone his fellow at his bidding ; the 
Catholic cry “ Vive Coligny ! ” I was so com- 
pletely taken aback that I found no words to an- 
swer him, and it was Croisette who said smartly, 
“Then how about his enthusiasm for the true 
faith, M. le Vidame ? ” 

“The true faith,” he answered — “for my serv- 
ants is my faith.” Then a thought seemed to 
strike him. “What is more,” he continued 
slowly, “ that it is the true and only faith for all, 
thousands will learn before the world is ten days 
older. Bear my . words in mind, boy ! They 
will come back to you. And now hear me,” he 


28 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


went on in his usual tone, “ I am anxious to ac- 
commodate a neighbor. It goes without saying 
that I would not think of putting you, M. Anne, 
to any trouble for the sake of that rascal of mine. 
But my people will expect something. Let the 
plaguy fellow who caused all this disturbance be 
given up to me, that I may hang him ; and let us 
cry quits.” 

“That is impossible!” I answered coolly. I 
had no need to ask what he meant. Give up 
Pavannes’ messenger indeed ! Never ! 

He regarded me — unmoved by my refusal — • 
with a smile under which I chafed, while I was 
impotent to resent it. “Do not build too much 
on a single blow, young gentleman,” he said, 
shaking his head waggishly. “I had fought a 
dozen times when I was your age. However, I 
understand that you refuse to give me satisfac- 
tion ? ” 

“ In the mode you mention, certainly,” I re- 
plied. “But ” 

“ Bah ! ” he exclaimed with a sneer, “business 
first and pleasure afterwards ! Bezers will obtain 
satisfaction in his own way, I promise you that ! 
And at his own time. And it will not be on un- 
fledged bantlings like you. But what is this 
for ? ” And he rudely kicked the culverin, which 
apparently he had not noticed before. “ So ! so ! 
understand,” he continued, casting a sharp 
glance at one and another of us. “You looked 
to be besieged ! Why, you booby, there is the 


THE VIDAME'S THE EAT 


2 9 


shoot of your kitchen midden, twenty feet above 
the roof of old Freds’ store ! And open, I will be 
sworn ! Do you think that I should have come 
this way while there was a ladder in Caylus ? 
Did you take the wolf for a sheep ? ” 

With that he turned on his heel, swaggering 
away in the full enjoyment of his triumph. For 
a triumph it was. We stood stunned ; ashamed 
to look one another in the face. Of course the 
shoot was open. We remembered now that it 
was, and we were so sorely mortified by his 
knowledge and our folly, that I failed in my 
courtesy, and did not see him to the gate, as I 
should have done. We paid for that later. 

“He is the devil in person!” I exclaimed 
angrily, shaking my fist at the House of the 
Wolf, as I strode up and down impatiently. “I 
hate him worse ! ” 

“So do I ! ” said Croisette, mildly. “ But that 
he hates us is a matter of more importance. At 
any rate we will close the shoot.” 

“Wait a moment ! ” I replied, as, after another 
volley of complaints directed at our visitor, the 
lad was moving off to see to it. “What is going 
on down there ? ” 

“Upon my word, I believe he is leaving us ! ” 
Croisette rejoined sharply. 

For there was a noise of hoofs below us, clat- 
tering on the pavement. Half-a-dozen horsemen 
were issuing from the House of the Wolf, the ring 
of their bridles and the sound of their careless 


3 ° 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


voices coming up to us through the clear morn- 
ing air. Bezers’ valet, whom we knew by sight, 
was the last of them. He had a pair of great 
saddle-bags before him, and at sight of these we 
uttered a glad exclamation. “ He is going ! ” I 
murmured, hardly able to believe my eyes.. 
“ He is going after all ! ” 

“Wait ! ” Croisette answered dryly. 

But I was right. We had not to wait long. 
He was going. In another moment he came out 
himself, riding a strong iron-gray horse : and we 
could see that he had holsters to his saddle. His 
steward was running beside him, to take I sup- 
pose his last orders. A cripple, whom the bustle 
had attracted from his usual haunt, the church 
porch, held up his hand for alms. The Vidame, 
as he passed, cut him savagely across the face 
with his whip, and cursed him audibly. 

'‘May the devil take him!” exclaimed Croi- 
sette in just rage. But I said nothing, remember- 
ing that the cripple was a particular pet of 
Catherine’s. I thought instead of an occasion, 
not so very long ago, when the Vicomte being at 
home, we had had a great hawking party. Bezers 
and Catherine had ridden up the street together, 
and Catherine giving the cripple a piece of 
money, Bezers had flung to him all his share of 
the game. And my heart sank. 

Only for a moment, however. The man was 
gone ; or was going at any rate. We stood silent 
and motionless, all watching, until, after what 


THE VIDAME'S THEE AT 3 l 

seemed a long- interval, the little party of seven 
became visible on the white road far below us — 
to the northward, and moving in that direction. 
Still we watched them, muttering a word to one 
another, now and again, until presently the riders 
slackened their pace, and began to ascend the 
winding track that led to the hills and Cahors ; 
and to Paris also, if one went far enough. 

Then at length with a loud “Whoop!” we 
dashed across the terrace, Croisette leading, and 
so through the courtyard to the parlor ; where we 
arrived breathless. “ He is off ! ” Croisette cried 
shrilly. “He has started for Paris! And bad 
luck go with him!” And we all flung up our 
caps and shouted. 

But no answer, such as we expected, came from 
the women folk. When we picked up our caps, 
and looked at Catherine, feeling rather foolish, 
she was staring at us with a white face and great 
scornful eyes. “ Fools ! ” she said. “ Fools ! ” 

And that was all. But it was enough to take 
me aback. I had looked to see her face lighten 
at our news ; instead it wore an expression I had 
never seen on it before. Catherine, so kind and 
gentle, calling us fools ! And without cause ! I 
did not understand it. I turned confusedly to 
Croisette. He was looking at her, and I saw that 
he was frightened. As for Madame Claude, she 
was crying in the corner. A presentiment of evil 
made my heart sink like lead. What had hap- 
pened ? 


32 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“ Fools !” my cousin repeated with exceeding 
bitterness, her foot tapping the parquet unceas^ 
ingly. “ Do you think he would have stooped to 
avenge himself on you P On you ! Or that he 
could hurt me one hundredth part as much here 

as — as ” She broke off stammering. Her 

scorn faltered for an instant. “ Bah ! he is a 
man ! He knows ! ” she exclaimed superbly, her 
chin in the air, “but you are boys. You do not 
understand ! ” 

I looked amazedly at this angry woman. I 
had a difficulty in associating her with my cousin. 
As for Croisette, he stepped forward abruptly, 
and picked up a white object which was lying at 
her feet. 

“Yes, read it ! ” she cried, “read it! Ah ! * 
and she clenched her little hand, and in her pas- 
sion struck the oak table beside her, so that a 
stain of blood sprang out on her knuckles. 
“Why did you not kill him? Why did you not 
do it when you had the chance ? You were three 
to one,” she hissed. “You had him in your 
power ! You could have killed him, and you did 
not ! Now he will kill me ! ” 

Madame Claude muttered something tearfully; 
something about Pavannes and the saints. I 
looked over Croisettes shoulder, and read the 
letter. It began abruptly without any term of 
address, and ran thus, “I have a mission in Paris, 
Mademoiselle, which admits of no delay, your 
mission, as well as my own — to see Pavannes. 


THE VIDAME'S THREAT 


33 


You have won his heart. It is yours, and I will 
bring it you, or his right hand, in token that he 
has yielded up his claim to yours. # And to this I 
pledge myself. ” 

The thing bore no signature. It was written 
in some red fluid — blood perhaps — a mean and 
sorry trick ! On the outside was scrawled a 
direction to Mademoiselle de Caylus. And the 
packet was sealed with the Vidame’s crest, a 
wolfs head. 

“The coward! the miserable coward!” Croi- 
sette cried. He was the first to read the meaning 
of the thing. And his eyes were full of tears — 
tears of rage. 

For me, I was angry exceedingly. My veins 
seemed full of fire, as I comprehended the mean 
cruelty which could thus torture a girl. 

“Who delivered this?” I thundered. “Who 
gave it to Mademoiselle? How did it reach her 
hands ? Speak, some one ! ” 

A maid, whimpering in the background, said 
that Francis had given it to her to hand to 
Mademoiselle. 

I ground my teeth together, while Marie, un- 
bidden, left the room to seek Francis — and a stir- 
rup leather. The Vidame had brought the note 
in his pocket no doubt, rightly expecting that he 
would not get an audience of my cousin. Re- 
turning to the gate alone he had seen his oppor- 
tunity, and given the note to Francis, probably 
with a small fee to secure its transmission. 


34 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Croisette and I looked at one another, appre- 
hending all this. “He will sleep at Cahors to- 
night,” I said sullenly. 

The lad shook his head and answered in a low 
voice, “lam afraid not. His horses are fresh. 
I think he will push on. He always travels 

quickly. And now you know ” 

I nodded, understanding only too well. 
Catherine had flung herself into a chair. Her 
arms lay nerveless on the table. Her face was 
hidden in them. But now, overhearing us, or 
stung by some fresh thought, she sprang to her 
feet in anguish. Her face twitched, her form 
seemed to stiffen as she drew herself up like one 
in physical pain. “Oh, I cannot bear it ! ” she 
cried to us in dreadful tones. “ Oh, will no one 
do anything ? I will go to him ! I will tell him 
I will give him up ! I will do whatever he 
wishes if he will only spare him ! ” 

Croisette went from the room crying. It was 
a dreadful sight for us — this girl in agony. And 
it was impossible to reassure her ! Not one of 
us doubted the horrible meaning of the note, its 
covert threat. Civil wars and religious hatred, 
and I fancy Italian modes of thought, had for the 
time changed our countrymen to beasts. Far 
more dreadful things were done then than this 
which Bezers threatened — even if he meant it 
literally — far more dreadful things were suffered. 
But in the fiendish ingenuity of his vengeance on 
her, the helpless, loving woman, I thought 


THE VI DAME'S THREAT 


35 


Raoul de Bezers stood alone. Alas ! it fares ill 
with the butterfly when the cat has struck it 
down. Ill indeed ! 

Madame Claude rose and put her arms round 
the girl, dismissing me by a gesture. I went 
out, passing through two or three scared serv- 
ants, and made at once for the terrace. I felt as 
if I could only breathe there. I found Marie and 
St. Croix together, silent, the marks of tears on 
their faces. Our eyes met and they told one tale. 

We all spoke at the same time. “When?” 
we said. But the others looked to me for an 
answer. 

I was somewhat sobered by that, and paused 
to consider before I replied. “ At daybreak to- 
morrow,” I decided presently. “It is an hour 
after noon already. We want money, and the 
horses are out. It will take an hour to bring 
them in. After that we might still reach Cahors 
to-night, perhaps ; but more haste less speed you 
know. No. At daybreak to-morrow we will 
start. ” 

They nodded assent. 

It was a great thing we meditated. No less 
than to go to Paris — the unknown city so far be- 
yond the hills — and seek out M. de Pavannes, 
and warn hin. It would be a race between the 
Vidame and ourselves; a race for the life of 
Kit’s suitor. Could we reach Paris first, or even 
within twenty-four hours of Bezers’ arrival, we 
sJaould in all probability be in time, and be able 


3 ^ 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


to put Pavannes on his guard. It had been the 
first thought of all of us, to take such men as we 
could get together and fall upon Bezers wherever 
we found him, making it our simple object to 
kill him. But the lackeys M. le Vicomte had 
left with us, the times being peaceful and the 
neighbors friendly, were poor-spirited fellows. 
Bezers’ handful, on the contrary, were reckless 
Swiss riders — like master, like men. We decided 
that it would be wiser simply to warn Pavannes, 
and then stand by him if necessary. 

We might have despatched a messenger. But 
our servants — Gil excepted, and he was too old 
to bear the journey — were ignorant of Paris. 
Nor could any one of them be trusted with a 
mission so delicate. We thought of Pavannes’ 
courier indeed. But he was a Rochellois, and a 
stranger to the capital. There was nothing for it 
but to go ourselves. 

Yet we did not determine on this adventure 
with light hearts, I remember. Paris loomed big 
and awesome in the eyes of all of us. The 
glamour of the court rather frightened than al- 
lured us. We felt that shrinking from contact 
with the world which a country life engenders, 
as well as that dread of seeming unlike other 
people which is peculiar to youth. It was a 
great plunge, and a dangerous which we medi- 
tated. And we trembled. If we had known 
more — especially of the future — we should have 
trembled more. 


THE VIDA ME S THEE AT 


37 


But we were young, and with our fears min- 
gled a delicious excitement. We were going on 
an adventure of knight-errantry in which we 
might win our spurs. We were going to see the 
world and play men's parts in it ! to save a 
friend and make our mistress happy ! 

We gave our orders. But we said nothing it> 
Catherine or Madame Claude ; merely bidding 
Gil tell them after our departure. We arranged 
for the immediate despatch of a message to the 
Vicomte at Bayonne, and charged Gil until he 
should hear from him to keep the gates closed, 
and look well to the shoot of the kitchen midden. 
Then, when all was ready, we went, to our 
pallets, but it was with hearts throbbing with 
excitement and wakeful eyes. 

“ Anne ! Anne ! ” said Croisette, rising on his 
elbow and speaking to me some three hours 
later, “what do you think the Vidame meant 
this morning when he said that about the ten 
days ? ” 

“ What about the ten days ? " I asked peevish- 
ly. He had roused me just when I was at last 
falling asleep. 

“About the world seeing that his was the true 
faith — in ten days ? ” 

“I am sure I do not know. For goodness’ 
sake let us go to sleep/’ I replied. For I had no 
patience with Croisette, talking such nonsense, 
when we had our own business to think about. 


3* 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ROAD TO PARIS 

The sun had not yet risen above the hills when 
we three with a single servant behind us drew 
rein at the end of the valley ; and easing our 
horses on the ascent, turned in the saddle to take 
a last look at Caylus — at the huddled gray town, 
and the towers above it. A little thoughtful we 
all were, I think. The times were rough and our 
errand was serious. But youth and early morn- 
ing are fine dispellers of care ; and once on the 
uplands we trotted gayly forward, now passing 
through wide glades in the sparse oak forest, 
where the trees all leaned one way, now over 
bare, wind-swept downs ; or once and again de- 
scending into a chalky bottom, where the stream 
bubbled through deep beds of fern, and a lonely 
farmhouse nestled amid orchards. 

Four hours’ riding, and we saw below us 
Cahors, filling the bend of the river. We cantered 
over the Vallandre Bridge, which there crosses 
the Lot, and so to my uncle’s house of call in the 
square. Here we ordered breakfast, and an- 
nounced with pride that we were going to Paris. 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


39 


Our host raised his hands. “ Now there ! ” he 
exclaimed, regret in his voice. “And if you had 
arrived yesterday you could have travelled up 
with the Vidame de Bezers ! And you a small 
party — saving your lordships’ presence — and the 
roads but so-so ! ” 

“ But the Vidame was riding with only half-a- 
dozen attendants also ! ” I answered, flicking my 
boot in a careless way. 

The landlord shook his head. “ Ah, M. le 
Vidame knows the world ! ” he answered shrewd- 
ly. “ He is not to be taken off his guard, not 
he ! One of his men whispered me that twenty 
staunch fellows would join him at Chateauroux. 
They say the wars are over, but ” — and the good 
man, shrugging his shoulders, cast an expressive 
glance at some fine flitches of bacon which were 
hanging in his chimney. “ However, your lord- 
ships know better than I do,” he added briskly. 
“ I am a poor man. I only wish to live at peace 
with my neighbors, whether they go to mass or 
sermon.” 

This was a sentiment so common in those days 
and so heartily echoed by most men of substance 
both in town and country, that we did not stay 
to assent to it ; but having received from the 
worthy fellow a token which would insure our 
obtaining fresh cattle at Limoges, we took to 
the road again, refreshed in body, and with some 
food for thought. 

Five-and-twenty attendants were more than 


40 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


even such a man as Bezers, who had many 
enemies, travelled with in those days ; unless ac- 
companied by ladies. That the Vidame had pro- 
vided such a reinforcement seemed to point to a 
wider scheme than the one with which we had 
credited him. But we could not guess what his 
plans were ; since he must have ordered his peo- 
ple before he heard of Catherine’s engagement. 
Either his jealousy therefore had put him on the 
alert earlier, or his threatened attack on Pavannes 
was only part of a larger plot. In either case our 
errand seemed more urgent, but scarcely more 
hopeful. 

The varied sights and sounds however of the 
road — many of them new to us — kept us from 
dwelling over much on this. Our eyes were 
young, and whether it was a pretty girl lingering 
behind a troop of gypsies, or a pair of strollers 
from Valencia — -jongleurs they still called them- 
selves — singing in the old dialect of Provence, or 
a Norman horse-dealer with his string of cattle 
tied head and tail, or the Puy de Dome to the 
eastward over the Auvergne hills, or a tattered 
old soldier wounded in the wars — fighting for 
either side, according as their lordships inclined 
— we were pleased with all. 

Yet we never forgot our errand. We never I 
think rose in the morning— too often stiff and 
sore — without thinking “To-day or to-morrow or 
the next day — ” as the case might be — “we shall 
make all right for Kit ! ” For Kit ! Perhaps it 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


41 


was the purest enthusiasm we were ever to feel, 
the least selfish aim we were ever to pursue. 
For Kit ! 

Meanwhile we met few travellers of rank on 
the road. Half the nobility of France were still 
in Paris enjoying the festivities which were being 
held to mark the royal marriage. We obtained 
horses where we needed them without difficulty. 
And though we had heard much of the dangers 
of the way, infested as it was said to be by dis- 
banded troopers, we were not once stopped or 
annoyed. 

But it is not my intention to chronicle all the 
events of this my first journey, though I dwell on 
them with pleasure ; or to say what I thought of 
the towns, all new and strange to me, through 
which we passed. Enough that we went by way 
of Limoges, Chateauroux and Orleans, and that 
at Chateauroux we learned the failure of one hope 
we had formed. We had thought that Bezers 
when joined there by his troopers would not be 
able to get relays ; and that on this account we 
might by travelling post overtake him ; and pos- 
sibly slip by him between that place and Paris. 
But we learned at Chateauroux that his troop had 
received fresh orders to go to Orleans and await 
him there ; the result being that he was able to 
push forward with relays so far. He was evi- 
dently in hot haste. For leaving there with his 
horses fresh he passed through Angerville, forty 
miles short of Paris, at noon, whereas we reached 


42 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


it on the evening of the same day — the sixth after 
leaving Caylus. 

We rode into the yard of the inn — a large place, 
seeming larger in the dusk — so tired that we 
could scarcely slip from our saddles. Jean, our 
servant, took the four horses, and led them 
across to the stables, the poor beasts hanging 
their heads, and following meekly. We stood a 
moment stamping our feet, and stretching our 
legs. The place seemed in a bustle, the clatter 
of pans and dishes proceeding from the windows 
over the entrance, with a glow of light and the 
sound of feet hurrying in the passages. There 
were men too, half-a-dozen or so standing at the 
doors of the stables, while others leaned from the 
windows. One or two lanthorns just kindled 
glimmered here and there in the semi-darkness ; 
and in a corner two smiths were shoeing a horse. 

We were turning from all this to go in, when 
we heard Jean’s voice raised in altercation, and 
thinking our rustic servant had fallen into trouble, 
we walked across to the stables near which he 
and the horses were still lingering. “ Well, what 
is it ? ” I said sharply. 

“They say that there is no room for the 
horses,” Jean answered querulously, scratching 
his head ; half sullen, half cowed, a country serv- 
ant all over. 

“And there is not ! ” cried the foremost of the 
gang about the door, hastening to confront us in 
turn. His tone was ins r lent, and it needed but 


THE KUAD TO PARIS 


43 


half an eye to see that his fellows were inclined 
to back him up. He stuck his arms akimbo and 
faced us with an impudent smile. A lanthorn on 
the ground beside him throwing an uncertain 
light on the group, I saw that they all wore the 
same badge. 

‘‘Come,” I said sternly, “the stables are large, 
and your horses cannot fill them. Some room 
must be found for mine.” 

“To be sure ! Make way for the king ! ” he 
retorted. While one jeered “ Vive le roi! ,y and 
the rest laughed. Not good-humoredly, but with 
a touch of spitefulness. 

Quarrels between gentlemen’s servants were 
as common then as they are to-day. But the 
masters seldom condescended to interfere. “Let 
the fellows fight it out,” was the general senti- 
ment. Here, however, poor Jean was over- 
matched, and we had no choice but to see to it 
ourselves. 

“ Come, men, have a care that you do not get 
into trouble,” I urged, restraining Croisette by a 
touch, for I by no means wished to have a repe- 
tition of the catastrophe which had happened at 
Caylus. “These horses belong to the Vicomte 
de Caylus. If your master be a friend of his, as 
may very probably be the case, you will run the 
risk of getting into trouble.” 

I thought I heard, as I stopped speaking, a 
subdued muttering, and fancied I caught the 
words, “ Papegot ! Down with the Guises 1 ” 


44 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF. 


But the spokesman’s only answer aloud was 
“ Cock-a-doodle-doo ! ” “ Cock-a-doodle-doo ! ” 
he repeated, flapping his arms in defiance. 
“ Here is a cock of a fine hackle ! ” And 
so on, and so forth, while he turned grin- 
ning to his companions, looking for their ap- 
plause. 

I was itching to chastise him, and yet hesitat- 
ing, lest the thing should have its serious side, 
when a new actor appeared. “ Shame, you 
brutes ! ” cried a shrill voice above us — in the 
clouds it seemed. I looked up, and saw two 
girls, coarse and handsome, standing at a window 
over the stable, a light between them. “For 
shame ! Don’t you see that they are mere chil- 
dren ? Let them be, ” cried one. 

The men laughed louder than ever ; and for 
me, I could not stand by and be called a child. 
“Come here,” I said, beckoning to the man in 
the doorway. “Come here, you rascal, and I 
vdll give you the thrashing you deserve for speak- 
ing to a gentleman ! ” 

He lounged forward, a heavy fellow, taller 
than myself and six inches wider at the shoulders. 
My heart failed me a little as I measured him. 
But the thing had to be done. If I was slight, I 
was wiry as a hound, and in the excitement had 
forgotten my fatigue. I snatched from Marie a 
loaded riding-whip he carried, and stepped for- 
ward. • 

“ Have a care, little man 1 ” cried the girl gayly 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


45 

— yet half in pity, I think. “Or that fat pig will 
kill you ! ” 

My antagonist did not join in the laugh this 
time. Indeed it struck me that his eye wandered 
and that he was not so ready to enter the ring as 
his mates were to form it. But before I could try 
his mettle, a hand was laid on my shoulder. A 
man appearing from I do not know where — from 
the dark fringe of the group, I suppose — pushed 
me aside, roughly, but not discourteously. 

“Leave this to me!” he said, coolly stepping 
before me. “ Do not dirty your hands with the 
knave, master. I am pining for work and thejob 
will just suit me ! I will fit him for the worms 
before the nuns above can say an Ave!” 

I looked at the newcomer. He was a stout 
fellow ; not over tall, nor over big ; swarthy, with 
prominent features. The plume of his bonnet 
was broken, but he wore it in a rakish fashion ; 
and altogether he swaggered with so dare-devil 
an air, clinking his spurs and swinging out his 
long sword recklessly, that it was no wonder 
three or four of the nearest fellows gave back a 
foot. 

“Come on ! ” he cried, boisterously, forming a 
ring by the simple process of sweeping his blade 
from side to side, while he made the dagger in his 
left hand flash round his head. “Who is for the 
game? Who will strike a blow for the little 
1 Admiral ? Will you come one, two, three at once ; 
or all together? Anyway, come on, you ” 


46 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


And he closed his challenge with a volley of fright- 
ful oaths, directed at the group opposite. 

“It is no quarrel of yours,” said the big man, 
sulkily ; making no show of drawing his sword, 
but rather drawing back himself. 

“All quarrels are my quarrels ! and no quarrels 
are your quarrels. That is about the truth, I 
fancy ! ” was the smart retort ; which our cham- 
pion rendered more emphatic by a playful lunge 
that caused the big bully to skip again. 

There was a loud laugh at this, even among the 
enemy’s backers. “Bah, the great pig!” ejacu- 
lated the girl above. “ Spit him ! ” and she spat 
down on the whilom Hector — who made no great 
figure now. 

“Shall I bring you a slice of him, my dear?” 
asked my rakehelly friend, looking up and mak- 
ing his sword play round the shrinking wretch. 
“Just a tit-bit, my love ? ” he added persuasively- 
“ A mouthful of white liver and caper sauce ? ” 

“ Not for me, the beast ! ” the girl cried, amid 
the laughter of the yard. 

“ Not a bit ? If I warrant him tender ? Ladies' 
meat ? ” 

“ Bah ! no ! ” and she stolidly spat down again. 

“ Do you hear ? The lady has no taste for you,” 
the tormentor cried. “ Pig of a Gascon ! ” And 
deftly sheathing his dagger, he seized the big 
coward by the ear, and turning him round, gave 
him a heavy ki:k which sent him spinning over a 
bucket, and down against the wall. There the 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


47 


bully remained, swearing and rubbing himself by 
turns ; while the victor cried boastfully, “ Enough 
of him. If any one wants to take up his quarrel, 
Blaise Bure is his man. If not, let us have an end 
of it. Let some one find stalls for the gentlemen's 
horses before they catch a chill ; and have done 
with it. As for me, ’ he added, and then he turned 
to us and removed his hat, with an exaggerated 
flourish, “I am your lordships’ servant to com- 
mand. ” 

I thanked him with a heartiness, half-earnest, 
half-assumed. His cloak was ragged, his trunk 
hose, which had once been fine enough, were 
stained, and almost pointless. He swaggered in- 
imitably, and had led-captain written large upon 
him. But he had done us a service, for Jean had 
no further trouble about the horses. And besides 
one has a natural liking for a brave man, and this 
man was brave beyond question. 

‘You are from Orleans,” he said respectfully 
enough, but as one asserting a fact, not asking a 
question. 

“Yes,” I answered, somewhat astonished. 
“ Did you see us come in ? ” 

“ No, but I looked at your boots, gentlemen,” 
he replied. “White dust, north ; red dust, south. 
Do you see? ” 

“Yes, I see,” I said, with admiration. “You 
must have been brought up in a sharp school, M. 
Bure.” 

“Sharp masters make sharp scholars,” he re- 


48 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


plied, grinning. And that answer I had occasion 
to remember .afterwards. 

“You are from Orleans, also?” I asked, as we 
prepared to go in. 

“Yes, from Orleans too, gentlemen. But 
earlier in the day. With letters — letters of im- 
portance ! ” And bestowing something like a 
wink of confidence on us, he drew himself up, 
looked sternly at the stable-folk, patted himself 
twice on the chest, and finally twirled his mous- 
taches, and smirked at the girl above, who was 
chewing straws. 

I thought it likely enough that we might find it 
hard to get rid of him. But this was not so. 
After listening with gratification to our repeated 
thanks, he bowed with the same grotesque flour-, 
ish, and marched off as grave as a Spaniard, 
humming — 

“ Ce petit homme tant joli ! 

Qui toujours cause et toujours rit, 

Qui toujours baise sa mignonne, 

Dieu gard’ de mal ce petit homme ! ” 

On our going in, the landlord met us politely, 
but with curiosity, and a simmering of excite- 
ment also in his manner. “From Paris, my 
lords ? ” he asked, rubbing his hands and bowing 
low. “Or from the south ? 

“From the south,” I answered. “From Or. 
leans, and hungry and tired, Master Host.” 

“Ah!” he replied, disregarding the latter part 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


49 


of my answer, while his little eyes twinkled with 
satisfaction. “ Then I dare swear, my lords, you 
have not heard the news?” He halted in the 
narrow passage, and lifting the candle he carried, 
scanned our faces closely, as if he wished to learn 
something about us before he spoke. 

“News!” I answered brusquely, being both 
tired and, as I had told him, hungry. “ We have 
heard none, and the best you can give us will be 
that our supper is ready to be served.” 

But even this snub did not check his eagerness 
to tell his news. “ The Admiral de Coligny,” he* 
said breathlessly, “you have not heard what has 
happened to him ?” 

“To the admiral? No, what?” I inquired 
rapidly. I was interested at last. 

For a moment let me digress. The few of my 
age will remember, and the many younger will 
have been told, that at this time the Italian 
queen-mother was the ruling power in France. 
It was Catharine de’ Medici’s first object to main- 
tain her influence over Charles the Ninth — her 
son ; who, rickety, weak, and passionate, was 
already doomed to an early grave. Her second, 
to support the royal power by balancing the ex- 
treme Catholics against the Huguenots. For the 
latter purpose she would coquet first with one 
party, then with the other. At the present mo- 
ment she had committed herself more deeply than 
was her wont to the Huguenots. Their leaders, 
the Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, the King of 
4 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


5 ° 

Navarre, and the Prince of Conde, were supposed 
to be high in favor, while the chiefs of the other 
party, the Duke of Guise, and the two Cardinals 
of his house, the Cardinal of Lorraine and the 
Cardinal of Guise, were in disgrace ; which, as it 
seemed, even their friend at court, the queen’s 
favorite son, Henry of Anjou, was unable to over- 
come. 

Such was the outward aspect of things in Au- 
gust, 1572, but there were not wanting rumors that 
already Coligny, taking advantage of the footing 
given him, had gained an influence over the 
young king, which threatened Catharine de’ 
Medici herself. The admiral, therefore, to whom 
the Huguenot half of France had long looked as 
to its leader, was now the object of the closest 
interest to all ; the Guise faction, hating him — as 
the alleged assassin of the Duke of Guise — with 
an intensity which probably was not to be found 
in the affection of his friends, popular with the 
latter as he was. 

Still, many who were not Huguenots had a re- 
gard for him as a great Frenchman and a gallant 
soldier. We — though we were of the old faith, 
and the other side — had heard much of him, and 
much good. The Vicomte had spoken of. him 
always as a great man, a man mistaken, but 
brave, honest and capable in his error. There- 
fore it was that when the landlord mentioned 
him, I forgot even my hunger. 

“ He was shot, my lords, as he passed through 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


5 * 

the Pae des Fosses, yesterday/' the man declared 
with bated breath. “It is not known whether 
he will live or die. Paris is in an uproar, and 
there are some who fear the worst. ” 

“But,” I said doubtfully, “ who has dared to 
do this ? He had a safe conduct from the king 
himself. ” 

Our host did not answer ; shrugging his shoul- 
ders instead, he opened the door, and ushered 
us into the eating-room. 

Some preparations for our meal had already 
been made at one end of the long board. At the 
other was seated a man past middle age, richly 
but simply dressed. His gray hair, cut short 
about a massive head, and his grave, resolute 
face, square-jawed, and deeply-lined, marked 
him as one to whom respect was due apart from 
his clothes. We bowed to him as we took our 
seats. 

He acknowledged the salute, fixing us a 
moment with a penetrating glance ; and then 
resumed his meal. I noticed that his sword and 
belt were propped against a chair at his elbow, 
and a dag, apparently loaded, lay close to his 
hand by the candlestick. Two lackeys waited 
behind his chair, wearing the badge we had 
remarked in the inn yard. 

We began to talk, speaking in low tones that 
we might not disturb him. The attack on 
Coligny had, if true, its bearing on our own 
business. For if a Huguenot so great and 


52 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


famous and enjoying the king’s special favor stih 
went in Paris in danger of his life, what must be 
the risk that such an one as Pavannes ran ? We 
had hoped to find the city quiet If instead it 
should be in a state of turmoil Bezers’ chances 
were so much the better ; and ours — and Kit’s, 
poor Kit’s — so much the worse. 

Our companion had by this time finished his 
supper. But he still sat at table, and seemed to 
be regarding us with some curiosity. At length 
he spoke. “Are you going to Paris, young- 
gentlemen ? ” he asked, his tone harsh and high- 
pitched. 

We answered in the affirmative. “To-mor- 
row ? ” he questioned. 

“Yes,” we answered; and expected him to 
continue the conversation. But instead he be- 
came silent, gazing abstractedly at the table ; 
and what with our meal and our own talk, we 
had almost forgotten him again, when looking 
up, I found him at my elbow, holding out in 
silence a small piece of paper. 

I started — his face was so grave. But seeing 
that there were half-a-dozen guests of a meaner 
sort at another table close by, I guessed that he 
merely wished to make a private communication 
to us ; and hastened to take the paper and read 
it. It contained a scrawl of four words only — 

“ Va chasser l’ldole.” 

No more. I looked at him puzzled; able to 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


53 


make nothing out of it. St. Croix wrinkled his 
brow over it with the same result. It was no 
good handing it to Marie, therefore. 

“You do not understand ? ” the stranger 
continued, as he put the scrap of paper back in 
his pouch. 

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. We 
had all risen out of respect to him, and were 
standing a little group about him. 

“Just so; it is all right then,” he answered, 
looking at us as it seemed to me with grave 
good-nature. “It is nothing. Go your way. 
But — I have a son yonder not much younger 
than you, young gentlemen. And if you had 
understood, I should have said to you, ‘ Do not 
go ! There are enough sheep for the shearer ! ’ ” 

He was turning away with this oracular say- 
ing when Croisette touched his sleeve. “Pray 
can you tell us if it be true, ” the lad said eagerly, 
“that the Admiral de Coligny was wounded 
yesterday ? ” 

“It is true,” the other answered, turning his 
grave eyes on his questioner, while for a moment 
his stern look failed him. “It is true, my boy,” 
he added with an air of strange solemnity. 
“Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth. And, 
God forgive me for saying it, whom He would 
destroy, He first maketh mad.” 

He had gazed with peculiar favor at Croisette's 
girlish face, I thought : Marie and I were dark 
and ugly by the side of the boy. But he turned 


54 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


from him now with a queer, excited gesture, 
thumping his gold-headed cane on the floor. He 
called his servants in a loud, rasping voice, and 
left the room in seeming anger, driving them 
before him, the one carrying his dag, and the 
other two candles. 

When I came down early next morning, the 
first person I met was Blaise Bure. He looked 
rather fiercer and more shabby by daylight than 
candlelight. But he saluted me respectfully : and 
this, since it was clear that he did not respect 
many people, inclined me to regard him with 
favor. It is always so, the more savage the dog, 
the more highly we prize its attentions. I asked 
him who the Huguenot noble was who had 
supped with us. For a Huguenot we knew he 
must be. 

“The Baron de Rosny,” he answered; adding 
with a sneer, “ He is a careful man ! If they 
were all like him, with eyes on both sides of his 
head and a dag by his candle — well, my lord, 
there would be one more king in France — or one 
less ! But they are a blind lot : as blind as bats.” 
He muttered something farther in which I caught 
the word “ to-night.” But I did not hear it all ; or 
understand any of it. 

“Your lordships are going to Paris?” he 
resumed in a different tone. When I said that 
we were, he looked at me in a shamefaced way, 
half-timid, half-arrogant. “I have a small favor 
to ask of you then,” he said. “I am going to 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


55 


Paris myself. I am not afraid of odds, as you 
have seen. But the roads will be in a queer state 
if there be anything on foot in the city, and — well, 
I would rather ride with you gentlemen than 
alone.” 

“ You are welcome to join us,” I said. “But 
we start in half-an-hour. Do you know Paris 
well ? ” 

“As well as my sword-hilt,” he replied briskly, 
relieved I thought by my acquiescence. “And I 
have known that from my breeching. If you 
want a game at paume , or a pretty girl to kiss, I 
can put you in the way for the one or the other/ 

The half-rustic shrinking from the great city 
which I felt, suggested to me that our swash- 
buckling friend might help us if he would. “Do 
you know M. de Pavannes ? ” I asked impulsively. 
“ Where he lives in Paris, I mean ? ” 

“ M. Louis de Pavannes ? ” quoth he. 

“Yes.” 

“I know ” he replied slowly, rubbing his 

chin and looking at the ground in thought — 
“where he had his lodgings in town a while ago, 

before Ah ! I do know ! I remember,” he 

added, slapping his thigh, “when I was in Paris 
a fortnight ago I was told that his steward 
had taken lodgings for him in the Rue St. 
Antoine.” 

“ Good ! ” I answered overjoyed. “ Then we 
want to dismount there, if you can guide us 
straight to the ^ouse.” 


S6 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“ I can/’ he replied simply. “And you will 
not be the worse for my company. Paris is a 
queer place when there is trouble to the fore, but 
your lordships have got the right man to pilot you 
through it.” 

I did not ask him what trouble he meant, but 
ran indoors to buckle on my sword, and tell Marie 
and Croisette of the ally I had secured. They 
were much pleased, as was natural ; so that we 
took the road in excellent spirits intending to 
reach the city in the afternoon. But Marie’s horse 
cast a shoe, and it was some time before we could 
find a smith. Then at Etampes, where we 
stopped to lunch, we were kept an unconscion- 
able time waiting for it. And so we approached 
Paris for the first time at sunset. A ruddy glow 
was at the moment warming the eastern heights, 
and picking out with flame the twin towers 
of Notre Dame, and the one tall tower of St. 
Jacques laBoucherie. A dozen roofs higher than 
their neighbors shone hotly ; and a great bank of 
cloud, which lay north and south, and looked like 
a man’s hand stretched over the city, changed 
gradually from blood-red to violet, and from violet 
to black, as evening fell. 

Passing within the gates and across first one 
bridge and then another, we were astonished and 
utterly confused by the noise and hubbub through 
which we rode. Hundreds seemed to be moving 
this way and that in the narrow streets. Women 
screamed to one another from window to window. 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


57 


The bells of half-a-dozen churches rang the 
curfew. Our country ears were deafened. Still 
our eyes had leisure to take in the tall houses 
with their high-pitched roofs, and here and there a 
tower built into the wall ; the quaint churches, 
and the groups of townsfolks — sullen fellows some 
of them with a fierce gleam in their eyes — who, 
standing in the mouths of reeking alleys, watched 
us go by. 

But presently we had to stop. A crowd had 
gathered to watch a little cavalcade of six gentle- 
men pass across our path. They were riding two 
and two, lounging in their saddles and chattering 
to one another, disdainfully unconscious of the 
people about them, or the remarks they excited. 
Their graceful bearing and the richness of their 
dress and equipment surpassed anything I had 
ever seen. A dozen pages and lackeys were 
attending them on foot, and the sound of their 
jests and laughter came to us over the heads of 
the crowd. 

While I was gazingat them, some movement of 
the throng drove back Bure’s horse against mine, 
Bure himself uttered a savage oath ; uncalled for 
so far as I could see. But my attention was 
arrested the next moment by Croisette, who tapped 
my arm with his riding whip. “ Look ! ” he cried 
in some excitement, “ is not that he? ” 

I followed the direction of the lad’s finger — as 
well as I could for the plunging of my horse 
which Bure’s had frightened -and scrutinized the 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


5 * 

last pair of the troop. They were crossing- the 
street in which we stood, and I had only a side 
view of them ; or rather of the nearer rider. He 
was a singularly handsome man, in age about 
twenty-two or twenty-three with long lovelocks 
falling on his lace collar and cloak of orange silk. 
His face was sweet and kindly and gracious to a 
marvel. But he was a stranger to me. 

“I could have sworn,” exclaimed Croisette, 
"that that was Louis himself — M. de Pavannes ! ” 

"That?” I answered, as we began to move 
again, the crowd melting before us. "Oh, dear, 
no!” 

"No ! no ! The farther man ! ” he explained. 

But I had not been able to get a good look at 
the farther of the two. We turned in our saddles 
and peered after him. His back in the dusk 
certainly reminded me of Louis. Bure, however, 
who said he knew M. de Pavannes by sight, 
laughed at the idea. " Your friend,” he said, "is 
a wider man than that ! ” And I thought he 
was right there — but then it might be the cut of 
the clothes. "They have been at the Louvre 
playing paume , I’ll be sworn ! ” he went on. 
" So the Admiral must be better. The one next 
us was M. de Teligny, the Admiral’s son-in-law. 
And the other, whom you mean, was the Comte 
de laRochefoucault.” 

We turned as he spoke into a narrow street 
siear the river, and could see not far from us a 
Jiassof dark buildings which Bure told us was the 


THE ROAD TO PARIS 


59 


Louvre — the king’s residence. Out of this street 
we turned into a short one ; and here Bure drew 
rein and rapped loudly at some heavy gates. It 
was so dark that when, these being opened, he 
led the way into a courtyard, we could see little 
more than a tall, sharp-gabled house, projecting 
over us against a pale sky ; and a group of men 
and horses in one corner. Bure spoke to one of 
the men, and begging us to dismount, said the 
footman would show us to M. de Pavannes. 

The thought that we were at the end of our 
long journey, and in time to warn Louis of his 
danger, made us forget all our exertions, our 
fatigue and stiffness. Gladly throwing the 
bridles to Jean we ran up the steps after the 
servant. The thing was done. Hurrah ! the 
thing was done ! 

The house — as we passed through a long 
passage and up some steps — seemed full of peo- 
ple. We heard voices and the ring of arms more 
than once. But our guide, without pausing, led 
us to a small room lighted by a hanging lamp. 
“I will inform M. de Pavannes of your arrival," 
he said respectfully, and passed behind a curtain, 
which seemed to hide the door of an inner apart- 
ment. As he did so the clink of glasses and the 
hum of conversation reached us. 

“He has company supping with him,” I said 
nervously. I tried to flip some of the dust from 
my boots with my whip. I remembered that this 
was Paris- 


6o 


7 HE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“ He will be surprised to see us,” quoth Croi- 
sette, laughing — a little shyly, too, I think. And 
so we stood waiting. 

I began to wonder as minutes passed by — the 
gay company we had seen putting it in my mind, 
I suppose — whether M. de Pavannes, of Paris, 
might not turn out to be a very different person 
from Louis de Pavannes, of Caylus ; whether the 
king’s courtier would be as friendly as Kit’s lover. 
And I was still thinking of this without having 
settled the point to my satisfaction, when the 
curtain was thrust aside again. A very tall man, 
wearing a splendid suit of black and silver and a 
stiff trc ncher-like ruff, came quickly in, and stood 
smiling at us, a little dog in his arms. The little 
dog sat up and snarled : and Croisette gasped. 
It was not our old friend Louis certainly ! It was 
not Louis de Pavannes at all. It was no old 
friend at all. It was the Vidame de Bezers ! 

“Welcome, gentlemen!” he said, smiling at 
us — and never had the cast been so apparent in 
his eyes. “Welcome to Paris, M. Anne 1 


ENTRAPPED / 


61 


CHAPTER IV. 

ENTRAPPED ! 

There was a long silence. We stood glaring 
at him, and he smiled upon us — as a cat smiles. 
Croisette told me afterwards that he could have 
died of mortification — of shame and anger that 
we had been so outwitted. For myself I did not 
at once grasp the position. I did not understand. 
I could not disentangle myself in a moment from 
the belief in which I had entered the house — that 
it was Louis de Pavannes’ house. But I seemed 
vaguely to suspect that Bezers had swept him 
aside and taken his place. My first impulse 
therefore — obeyed on the instant — was to stride 
to the Vidame’s side and grasp his arm. “What 
have you done? ” I cried, my voice sounding 
hoarsely even in my own ears. “What have 
you done with M. de Pavannes ? Answer me ! ” 

He showed just a little more of his sharp white 
teeth as he looked down at my face — a flushed 
and troubled face doubtless. “ Nothing — yet,” 
he replied very mildly. And he shook me off. 

“ Then,” I retorted, “how do you come here?” 

He glanced at Croisette and shrugged his 


02 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


shoulders, as if I had been a spoiled child. “ M. 
Anne does not seem to understand,” he said with 
mock courtesy, “ that I have the honor to wel- 
come him to my house the Hotel Bezers, Rue de 
Platriere. ” 

“The Hotel Bezers! Rue de Platriere !” I 
cried confusedly. “ But Blaise Burd told us that 
this was the Rue St. Antoine ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” he replied as if slowly enlightened — the 
hypocrite ! “Ah ! I see ! ” and he smiled grimly. 
“So you have made the acquaintance of Blaise 
Bure, my excellent master of the horse ! Worthy 
Blaise ! Indeed, indeed, now I understand. 
And you thought, you whelps,” he continued, and 
as he spoke his tone changed strangely, and he 
fixed us suddenly with angry eyes, “to play a 
rubber with me ! With me, you imbeciles ! You 
thought the wolf of Bezers could be hunted down 
like any hare ! Then listen, and I will tell you 
the end of it. You are now in my house and 
absolutely at my mercy. I have two score men 
within call who would cut the throats of three 
babes at the breast, if I bade them! Ay,” he 
added, a wicked exultation shining in his eyes, 
“ they would, and like the job ! ” 

He was going on to say more, but I inter- 
rupted him. The rage I felt, caused as much by 
the thought of our folly as by his arrogance, would 
let me be silent no longer. “First, M. de Bezers, 
first,” I broke out fiercely, my words leaping 
over one another in my haste, “a word with 


ENTRAPPED ! 


63 


you ! Let me tell you what I think of you ! 
You are a treacherous hound, Vidame ! A cur ! 
a beast ! And I spit upon you ! Traitor and 
assassin ! ” I shouted, “ is that not enough ? 
Will nothing provoke you ? If you call yourself 
a gentleman, draw ! " 

He shook his head ; he was still smiling, still 
unmoved. “I do not do my own dirty work," 
he said quietly, “nor stint my footmen of their 
sport, boy." 

“ Very well ! ” I retorted. And with the words 
I drew my sword, and sprang as quick as light- 
ning to the curtain by which he had entered. 
“Very well, we will kill you first!" I cried 
wrathfully, my eye on his eye, and every savage 
passion in my breast aroused, “and take our 
chance with the lackeys afterwards ! Marie ! 
Croisette ! " I cried shrilly, “ on him, lads ! ” 

But they did not answer ! They did not move 
or draw. For the moment indeed the man was 
in my power. My wrist was raised, and I had 
my point at his breast, I could have run him 
through by a single thrust. And I hated him, 
Oh, how I hated him ! But he did not stir. Had 
he spoken, had he moved so much as an eyelid, 
or drawn back his foot, or laid his hand on his 
hilt, I should have killed him there. But he did 
not stir and I could not do it. My hand dropped. 
“Cowards ! " I cried, glancing bitterly from him 
to them— they had never failed me before. 
“ Cowards ! " I muttered, seeming to shrink 


64 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


into myself as I said the word. And I flung my 
sword clattering on the floor. 

“That is better ! ” he drawled quite unmoved, 
as if nothing more than words had passed, as if 
he had not been in peril at all. “It was what I 
was going to ask you to do. If the other young 
gentlemen will follow your example, I shall be 
Obliged. Thank you. Thank you.” 

Croisette, and a minute later Marie, obeyed 
him to the letter ! I could not understand it. I 
folded my arms and gave up the game in despair, 
and but for very shame I could have put my 
hands to my face and cried. He stood in the 
middle under the lamp, a head taller than the 
tallest of us ; our master. And we stood round 
him trapped, beaten, for all the world like 
children. Oh, I could have cried ! This was 
the end of our long ride, our aspirations, our 
knight-errantry ! 

“ Now perhaps you will listen to me,” he went 
on smoothly, “and hear what I am going to do. 
I shall keep you here, young gentlemen, until 
you can serve me by carrying to Mademoiselle, 
your cousin, some news of her betrothed. Oh, I 
shall not detain you long,” he added with an evil 
smile. “You have arrived in Paris at a for- 
tunate moment. There is going to be a — well, 
there is a little scheme on foot appointed for to- 
night — singularly lucky you are ! — for removing 
some objectionable people, some friends of ours 
perhaps among them, M. Anne. That is all. 


ENTRAPPED! 


65 

You will hear shots, cries, perhaps screams. 
Take no notice. You will be in no danger. 
For M. d£ Pavannes,” he continued, his voice 
sinking, “I think that by morning I shall be able 
to give you — a — a more particular account of 
him to take to Caylus — to Mademoiselle, you 
understand. ” 

For a moment the mask was off. His face 
took a sombre brightness. He moistened his lips 
with his tongue as though he saw his vengeance 
worked out then and there before him, and were 
gloating over the picture. The idea that this was 
so took such a hold upon me that I shrank back, 
shuddering ; reading too in Croisette’s face the 
same thought — and a late repentance. Nay, the 
malignity of Bezers* tone, the savage gleam of 
joy in his eyes appalled me to such an extent 
that I fancied for a moment I saw in him the 
devil incarnate ! 

He recovered his composure very quickly, 
however ; and turned carelessly towards the 
door. “ If you will follow me,” he said, “I will 
see you disposed of. You may have to complain 
of your lodging — I have other things to think of 
to-night than hospitality. But you shall not 
need to complain of your supper.” 

He drew aside the curtain as he spoke, and 
passed into the next room before us, not giving a 
thought apparently to the possibility that we 
might strike him from behind. There certainly 
was an odd quality apparent in him at times 
5 


66 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

which seemed to contradict what we knew of 
him. 

The room we entered was rather long than 
wide, hung with tapestry, and lighted by silver 
lamps. Rich plate, embossed, I afterwards 
learned, by Cellini the Florentine — who died that 
year I remember — and richer glass from Venice, 
with a crowd of meaner vessels filled with meats 
and drinks covered the table ; disordered as by 
the attacks of a numerous party. But save a 
servant or two by the distant dresser, and an ec- 
clesiastic at the far end of the table, the room was 
empty. 

The priest rose as we entered, the Vidame salut- 
ing him as if they had not met that day. “You 
are welcome, M. le Coadjuteur,” he said ; saying 
it coldly, however, I thought. And the two eyed 
one another with little favor ; rather as birds of 
prey about to quarrel over the spoil, chan as host 
and guest. Perhaps the Coadjutor’s glittering eyes 
and great beak-like nose made me think ot this. 

“ Ho ! ho ! ” he said, looking piercingly at us — 
and no doubt we must have seemed a miserable 
and dejected crew enough. “Who are these? 
Not the first-fruits of the night, eh?” 

The Vidame looked darkly at him. “No,” he 
answered brusquely. “They are not. I am not 
particular out of doors, Coadjutor, as you know, 
but this is my house, and we are going to supper. 
Perhaps you do not comprehend the distinction. 
Still it exists — for me,” with a sneer. 


ENTRAPPED ! 


67 


This was as good as Greek to us. But I so 
shrank from the priests malignant eyes, which 
would not quit us, and felt so much disgust 
mingled with my anger that when Bezers by a 
gesture invited me to sit down, I drew back. “ I 
will not eat with you,” I said sullenly ; speaking 
out of a kind of dull obstinacy, or perhaps a 
childish petulance. 

It did not occur to me that this would pierce 
the Vidame s armor. Yet a dull red showed for 
an instant in his cheek, and he eyed me with a 
look, that was not all ferocity, though the veins 
in his great temples swelled. A moment, never- 
theless, and he was himself again. “Armand,” 
he said quietly to the servant, “ these gentlemen 
will not sup with me. Lay for them at the other 
end.” 

Men are odd. The moment he gave way to 
me I repented of my words. It was almost with 
reluctance that I followed the servant to the 
lower part of the table. More than this, mingled 
with the hatred I felt for the Vidame, there was 
now a strange sentiment towards him — almost 
of admiration ; that had its birth I think in the 
moment, when I held his life in my hand, and he 
had not flinched. 

We ate in silence ; even after Croisette by 
grasping my hand under the table had begged me 
not to judge him hastily. The two at the upper 
end talked fast, and from the little that reached 
us, I judged that the priest was pressing some 


68 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

course on his host, which the latter declined to 
take. 

Once Bezers raised his voice. “I have my 
own ends to serve ! ” he broke out angrily, add- 
ing a fierce oath which the priest did not rebuke, 
“ and I shall serve them. But there I stop. You 
have your own. Well, serve them, but do not 
talk to me of the cause! The cause? To hell 
with the cause ! I have my cause, and you have 
yours, and my lord of Guise has his ! And you 
will not make me believe that there is any 
other ? ” 

“The king’s?” suggested the priest, smiling 
sourly. 

‘ ‘ Say rather the Italian woman’s ! ” the 
Vidame answered recklessly — meaning the 
queen-mother, Catherine de’ Medici, I supposed. 

“Well then, the cause of the Church?” the 
priest persisted. 

“ Bah ! The Church? It is you, my friend ! ” 
Bezers rejoined, rudely tapping his companion — 
at that moment in the act of crossing himself — 
on the chest. “The Church?” he continued; 
“no, no, my friend. I will tell you what you 
are doing. You want me to help you to get rid 
of your branch, and you offer in return to aid me 
with mine — and then, say you, there will be no 
stick left to beat either of us. But you may un- 
derstand once for all ” — and the Vidame struck 
his hand heavily down among the glasses — “ that 
I will have no interference with my work, master 


ENTRAPPED ! 


69 

Clerk ! None ! Do you hear ? And as for yours, 
it is no business of mine. That is plain speak- 
ing, is it not ? ” 

The priest’s hand shook as he raised a full glass 
to his lips, but he made no rejoinder, and the 
Vidame, seeing we had finished, rose. “ Ar- 
mand ! ” he cried, his face still dark, “take these 
gentlemen to their chamber. You understand?” 

We stiffly acknowledged his salute — the priest 
taking no notice of us — and followed the servant 
from the room ; going along a corridor and up a 
steep flight of stairs, and seeing enough by the 
way to be sure that resistance was hopeless. 
Doors opened silently as we passed, and grim 
fellows, in corselets and padded coats, peered out. 
The clank of arms and murmur of voices sounded 
continuously about us ; and as we passed a win- 
dow the jingle of bits, and the hollow clang of a 
restless hoof on the flags below, told us that the 
great house was for the time a fortress. I won- 
dered much. For this was Paris, a city with 
gates and guards ; the night a short August night. 
Yet the loneliest manor in Quercy could scarcely 
have bristled with more pikes and musquetoons, 
on a winter’s night and in time of war. 

No doubt these signs impressed us all ; and 
Croisette not least. For suddenly I heard him 
stop, as he followed us up the narrow staircase, 
and begin without warning to stumble down 
again as fast as he could. I did not know what 
he was about ; but muttering something to Marie, 


7 ° 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I followed the lad to see. At the foot of the flight 
of stairs I looked back. Marie and the servant 
were standing in suspense, where I had left them. 

I heard the latter bid us angrily to return. 

But by this time Croisette was at the end of the 
corridor ; and reassuring the fellow by a gesture 
I hurried on, until brought to a standstill by a 
man opening a door in my face. He had heard 
our returning footsteps, and eyed me suspicious- 
ly ; but gave way after a moment with a grunt 
of doubt. I hastened on, reaching the door of the 
room in which we had supped in time to see 
something which filled me with grim astonish- 
ment ; so much so that I stood rooted where I 
was, too proud at any rate to interfere. 

Bezers was standing, the leering priest at his 
elbow. And Croisette was stooping forward, his 
hands stretched out in an attitude of supplication. 

“ Nay, but M. le Vidame,” the lad cried, as I 
stood, the door in my hand, “ it were better to 
stab her at once than break her heart ! Have 
pity on her ! If you kill him, you kill her ! ” 

The Vidame was silent, seeming to glower on 
the boy. The priest sneered. “ Hearts are soon 
mended — especially women’s,” he said. 

“ But not Kit’s ! ” Croisette said passionately — 
otherwise ignoring him. “ Not Kit’s ! You do 
not know her, Vidame ! Indeed you do not ! ” 
The remark was ill-timed. I saw a spasm of 
anger distort Bezers’ face. “Get up, boy!” he 
snarled, “I wrote to Mademoiselle what I would 


ENTRAPPED! 


71 


do, and that 7 shall do ! A Bezers keeps his 
word. By the God above us — if there be a God, 
and in the devil’s name I doubt it to-night ! — I 
shall keep mine ! Go ! ” 

His great face was full of rage. He looked 
over Croisette’s head as he spoke, as if appealing 
to the Great Registrar of his vow, in the very mo- 
ment in which he all but denied Him. I turned 
and stole back the way I had come ; and heard 
Croisette follow. 

That little scene completed my misery. After 
that I seemed to take no heed of anything or 
anybody until I was aroused by the grating of our 
jailer’s key in the lock, and became aware that 
he was gone, and that we were alone in a small 
room under the tiles. He had left the candle on 
the floor, and we three stood round it. Save for 
the long shadows we cast on the walls and two 
pallets hastily thrown down in one corner, the 
place was empty. I did not look much at it, and 
I would not look at the others. I flung myself 
on one of the pallets and turned my face to the 
wall, despairingly. I thought bitterly of the failure 
we had made of it, and of the Vidame’s triumph. 

I cursed St. Croix especially for that last touch of 
humiliation he had set to it. Then, forgetting 
myself as my anger abated, I thought of Kit so 
far away at Caylus — of Kit’s pale, gentle face, 
and her sorrow. And little by little I forgave 
Croisette. After all he had not begged for us — he 
had not stooped for our sakes, but for hers. 


72 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I do not know how long I lay at see-saw be- 
tween these two moods. Or whether during that 
time the others talked or were silent, moved about 
the room or lay still. But it was Croisette s hand 
on my shoulder, touching me with a quivering 
eagerness that instantly communicated itself to 
my limbs, which recalled me to the room and 
its shadows. 4 ‘Anne ! ” he cried. “ Anne ! Are 
you awake ? ” 

“ What is it? ” I said, sitting up and looking at 
him. 

“ Marie,” he began, “has ” 

But there was no need for him to finish. I saw 
that Marie was standing at the far side of the 
room by the unglazed window ; which, being in 
a sloping part of the roof, inclined slightly alsp. 
He had raised the shutter which closed it, and on 
his tip-toes — for the sill was almost his own height 
from the floor — was peering out. I looked sharply 
at Croisette. “Is there a gutter outside?” I 
whispered, beginning to tingle all over as the 
thought of escape for the first time occurred to 
me. 

“No,” he answered in the same tone. “But 
Marie says he can see a beam below, which he 
thinks we can reach.” 

I sprang up, promptly displaced Marie, and 
looked out. When my eyes grew accustomed to 
the gloom I discerned a dark chaos of roofs and 
gables stretching as far as I could see before me. 
Nearer, immediately under the window, yawned 


ENTRAPPED ! 


73 


a chasm — a narrow street. Beyond this was a 
house rather lower than that in which we were, 
the top of its roof not quite reaching the level of 
my eyes. “ I see no beam,” I said. 

“Look below ! ” quoth Marie, stolidly. 

I did so, and then saw that fifteen or sixteen 
feet below our window there was a narrow beam 
which ran from our house to the opposite one — 
for the support of both, as is common in towns. 
In the shadow near the far end of this — it was so 
directly under our window that I could only see 
the other end of it — I made out a casement, 
faintly illuminated from within. 

I shook my head. 

“ We cannot get down to it,” I said, measuring 
the distance to the beam and the depth below it, 
and shivering. 

“Marie says we can, with a short rope,” Croi- 
sette replied. His eyes were glistening with 
excitement. 

“But we have no rope!” I retorted. I was 
dull — as usual. Marie made no answer. Surely 
he was the most stolid and silent of brothers. I 
turned to him. He was taking off his waistcoat 
and neckerchief. 

“Good!” I cried. I began to see now. Off 
came our scarves and kerchiefs also, and fortu- 
nately they were of home make, long and strong. 
And Marie had a hank of four-ply yarn in his 
pocket as it turned out, and I had some stout new 
garters, and two or three yards of thin cord, which 


74 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I had brought to mend the girths, if need should 
arise. In five minutes we had fastened them cun- 
n; ■'gly together. 

•‘I am the lightest,” said Croisette. 

“ But Marie has the steadiest head,” I objected. 
We had learned that long ago — that Marie could 
walk the coping-stones of the battlements with as 
little concern as we paced a plank set on the 
ground. 

“ True, ” Croisette had to admit. ‘ ‘ But he must 
come last, because whoever does so will have to 
let himself down.” 

I had not thought of that, and I nodded. It 
seemed that the lead was passing out of my hands 
and I might resign myself. Still one thing I would 
have. As Marie was to come last, I would go 
first. My weight would best test the rope. And 
accordingly it was so decided. 

There was no time to be lost. At any moment 
we might be interrupted. So the plan was no 
sooner conceived than carried out. The rope was 
made fast to my left wrist. Then I mounted on 
Marie’s shoulders, and climbed — not without 
quavering — through the window, taking as little 
time over it as possible, for a bell was already 
proclaiming midnight. 

All this I had done on the spur of the moment. 
But outside, hanging by my hands in the dark- 
ness, the strokes of the great bell in my ears, I 
had a moment in which to think. The sense of 
the vibrating depth below me, the airiness, the 


ENTRAPPED f 


space and gloom around, frightened me. “Are 
you ready ? ” muttered Marie, perhaps with a little 
impatience. He had not a scrap of imagination, 
had Marie. 

“No ! wait a minute ! ” I blurted out, clinging 
to the sill, and taking a last look at the bare 
room, and the two dark figures between me and 
the light. “No!” I added, hurriedly. “ Croi- 
sette — boys, I called you cowards just now. I 
take it back ! I did not mean it ! That is all ! ” 
I gasped. “Let go!” 

A warm touch on my hand. Something like a 
sob. 

The next moment I felt myself sliding down the 
face of the house, down into the depth. The 
light shot up. My head turned giddily. I clung, 
oh, how I clung to that rope ! Half way down 
the thought struck me that in case of accident 
those above might not be strong enough to pull 
me up again. But it was too late to think of that, 
and in another second my feet touched the beam. 
I breathed again. Softly, very gingerly, I made 
good my footing on the slender bridge, and, dis- 
engaging the rope, let it go. Then, not without 
another qualm, I sat down astride of the beam, 
and whistled in token of success. Success so far ! 

It was a strange position, and I have often 
dreamed of it since. In the darkness about me 
Paris lay to all seeming asleep. A veil, and not 
the veil of night only, was stretched between it 
and me ; between me, a mere lad, and the strange 


y6 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

secrets of a great city ; stranger, grimmer, more 
deadly that night than ever before or since. How 
many men were watching under those dimly- 
seen roofs, with arms in their hands ? How 
many sat with murder at heart? How many 
were waking, who at dawn would sleep for ever, 
or sleeping who would wake only at the knife’s 
edge ? These things I could not know, any more 
than I could picture how many boon-companions 
were parting at that instant, just risen from the 
dice, one to go blindly — the other watching him 
— to his death? I could not imagine, thank 
Heaven for it, these secrets, or a hundredth part 
of the treachery and cruelty and greed that lurked 
at my feet, ready to burst all bounds at a pistol- 
shot. It had no significance for me that the past 
day was the 23d of August, or that the morrow 
was St. Bartholomew’s feast ! 

No. Yet mingled with the jubilation which the 
possibility of triumph over our enemy raised in 
my breast, there was certainly a foreboding. 
The Vidame’s hints, no less than his open boasts, 
had pointed to something to happen before morn- 
ing — something wider than the mere murder of a 
single man. The warning also which the Baron 
de Rosny had given us at the inn occurred to me 
with new meaning. And I could not shake the 
feeling off. I fancied, as I sat in the darkness 
astride of my beam, that I could see, closing the 
narrow vista of the street, the heavy mass of the 
Louvre ; and that the murmur of voices and the 


ENTRAPPED ! 


77 

tramp of men assembling came from its courts, 
with now and again the stealthy challenge of a 
sentry, the restrained voice of an officer. Scarcely 
a wayfarer passed beneath me : so few, indeed, 
that I had no fear of being detected from below. 
And yet, unless I was mistaken, a furtive step, a 
subdued whisper were borne to me on every 
breeze, from every quarter. And the night was 
full of phantoms. 

Perhaps all this was mere nervousness, the out- 
come of my position. At any rate I felt no more 
of it when Croisette joined me. We had our dag- 
gers, and that gave me some comfort. If we 
could once gain entrance to the house opposite, 
we had only to beg, or in the last resort force our 
way downstairs and out, and then to hasten with 
w T hat speed we might to Pavannes’ dwelling. 
Clearly it was a question of time only now ; 
whether Bezers’ band or we should first reach it. 
And struck by this I whispered Marie to be quick. 
He seemed to be long in coming. 

He scrambled down hand over hand at last, 
and then I saw that he had not lingered above for 
nothing. He had contrived after getting out of 
the window to let down the shutter. And more ; 
he had at some risk lengthened our rope, and 
made a double line of it, so that it ran round a 
hinge of the shutter ; and when he stood beside 
us, he took it by one end and disengaged it. 
Good, clever Marie ! 

“ Bravo 1 ” I said softly, clapping him on the 


7 8 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

back. “ Now they will not know which way the 
birds have flown ! ” 

So there we all were, one of us, I confess, 
trembling. We slid easily enough along the 
beam to the opposite house. But once there in a 
row one behind the other with our faces to the 
wall, and the night air blowing slantwise — well I 
am nervous on a height and I gasped. The win- 
dow was a good six feet above the beam. The 
casement — it was unglazed — was open, veiled by 
a thin curtain, and alas ! protected by three hori- 
zontal bars — stout bars they looked. 

Yet we were bound to get up and to get in ; 
and I was preparing to rise to my feet on the 
giddy bridge as gingerly as I could, when Marie 
crawled quickly over us, and swung himself up 
to the narrow sill, much as I should mount a 
horse on the level. He held out his foot to me, 
and making an effort I reached the same dizzy 
perch. Croisette for the time remained below. 

A narrow window-ledge sixty feet above the 
pavement, and three bars to cling to ! I cowered 
to my holdfasts, envying even Croisette. My 
legs dangled airily, and the black chasm of the 
street seemed to yawn for me. For a moment I 
turned sick. I recovered from that to feel des- 
perate. I remembered that go forward we must, 
bars or no bars. We could not regain our old 
prison if we would. 

It was equally clear that we could not go for- 
ward if the inmates should object. On that nar- 


ENTRAPPED ! 


79 

row perch even Marie was helpless. The bars of 
the window were close together. A woman, a 
child, could disengage our hands, and then — I 
turned sick again. I thought of the cruel stones. 
I glued my face to the bars, and pushing aside a 
corner of the curtain, looked in. 

There was only one person in the room — a 
woman, who was moving about, fully dressed, 
late as it was. The room was a mere attic, the 
counterpart of that we had left. A box-bed with 
a canopy roughly nailed over it stood in a corner. 
A couple of chairs were by the hearth, and all 
seemed to speak of poverty and bareness. Yet 
the woman whom we saw was richly dressed, 
though her silks and velvets were disordered. I 
saw a jewel gleam in her hair, and others on her 
hands. When she turned her face towards us — a 
wild, beautiful face, perplexed and tear-stained — 
I knew her instantly for a gentlewoman, and 
when she walked hastily to the door, and laid her 
hand upon it, and seemed to listen — when she 
shook the latch and dropped her hands in de- 
spair and went back to the hearth, I made another 
discovery. I knew at once, seeing her there, 
that we were likely but to change one prison for 
another. Was every house in Paris then a dun- 
geon ? And did each roof cover its tragedy ? 

“ Madame ! ” I said, speaking softly, to attract 
her attention. “ Madame ! ” 

She started violently, not knowing whence the 
sound came, and looked round, at the door first. 


8o 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Then she moved towards the window, and with 
an affrighted gesture drew the curtain rapidly 
aside. 

Our eyes met. What if she screamed and 
aroused the house ? What indeed? “Madame, 5 ’ 
I said again, speaking hurriedly, and striving to 
reassure her by the softness of my voice, “we 
implore your help ! Unless you assist us we are 
lost.” 

“You! Who are you?” she cried, glaring at 
us wildly, her hand to her head. And then she 
murmured to herself, “Mon Dieu ! what will 
become of me ? ” 

“We have been imprisoned in the house oppo- 
site,” I hastened to explain, disjointedly I am 
afraid. “And we have escaped. We cannot get 
back if we would. Unless you let us enter your 
room and give us shelter ” 

“We shall be dashed to pieces on the pave- 
ment,” supplied Marie, with perfect calmness — 
nay, with apparent enjoyment. 

“Let you in here?” she answered, starting 
back in new terror ; “it is impossible.” 

She reminded me of our cousin, being, like her, 
pale and dark-haired. She wore her hair in a 
coronet, disordered now. But though she was 
still beautiful, she was older than Kit, and lacked 
her pliant grace. I saw all this, and judging he» v 
nature, I spoke out of my despair. “ Madame,” I 
said piteously, “we are only boys. Croisette ! 
Come up 1 ” Squeezing myself still more tightly 


ENTRAPPED ! 


81 


into my corner of the ledge, I made room for him 
between us. “See, Madame,” I cried, craftily, 
““will you not have pity on three boys? ” 

St Croix’s boyish face and fair hair arrested her 
attention, as I had expected. Her expression 
grew softer, and she murmured, “ Poor boy ! ” 

I caught at the opportunity. “ We do but seek 
a passage through your room,” I said fervently. 
-Good heavens, what had we not at stake ! What 
if she should remain obdurate? “We are in 
trouble — in despair,” I panted. “So, I believe, 
are you. We will help you if you will first save 
us. We are boys, but we can fight for you.” 

“Whom am I to trust? ” she exclaimed, with a 
shudder. “But heaven forbid,” she continued, 
her eyes on Croisette’s face, “that, wanting help, 
I should refuse to give it. Come in, if you will.” 

I poured out my thanks, and had forced my 
head between the bars — at imminent risk of its 
remaining there — before the words were well out 
of her mouth. But to enter was no easy task 
•after all. Croisette did, indeed, squeeze through 
at last, and then by force pulled first one and 
then the other of us after him. But only neces- 
sity and that chasm behind could have nerved us, 

I think, to go through a process so painful. 
When I stood, at length on the floor, I seemed to 
be one great abrasion from head to foot. And 
before a lady, too ! 

But what a joy I felt, nevertheless. A fig for 
3ezers now. He had called us boys; and we 
6 


8 2 


THE HOUSE OF THE IVOLF 


were boys. But he should yet find that we 
could thwart him. It could be scarcely half-an- 
hour after midnight ; we might still be in time. 
I stretched myself and trod the level floor jubi- 
lantly, and then noticed, while doing so, that our 
hostess had retreated to the door and was eyeing 
us timidly — half-scared. 

I advanced to her with my lowest bow — sadly 
missing my sword. “Madame,” I said, “lam. 
M. Anne de Caylus, and these are my brothers. 
And we are at your service.” 

“And I,” she replied, smiling faintly — I do not 
know why — “am Madame de Pavannes. I 
gratefully accept your offers of service.” 

“ De Pavannes?” I exclaimed, amazed and 
overjoyed. Madame de Pavannes ! Why, she 
must be Louis’ kinswoman ! No doubt she could 
tell us where he was lodged, and so rid our task 
of half its difficulty. Could anything have fallen 
out more happily? “You know then M. Louis 
de Pavannes?” I continued eagerly. 

“Certainly,” she answered, smiling with a rare 
shy sweetness this time. “Very well indeed. 
He is my husband.” 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


83 


CHAPTER V. 

A PRIEST AND A WOMAN. 

“ He is my husband ! ” 

The statement was made in the purest inno- 
cence ; yet never, as may well be imagined, did 
words fall with more stunning force. Not one of 
us answered or, I believe, moved so much as a 
limb or an eyelid. We only stared, wanting time 
to take in the astonishing meaning of the words, 
and then more time to think what they meant to 
us in particular. 

Louis de Pavannes’ wife ! Louis de Pavannes 
married ! If the statement were true — and we 
could not doubt, looking in her face, that at least 
she thought she was telling the truth— it meant 
that we had been fooled indeed ! That we had 
had this journey for nothing, and run this risk for 
a villain. It meant that the Louis de Pavannes 
who had won our boyish admiration was the 
meanest, the vilest of court-gallants. That 
Mademoiselle de Caylus had been his sport and 
plaything. And that we in trying to be before- 
hand with Bezers had been striving to save a 
scoundrel from his due. It meant all that, as 
soon as we grasped it in the least. 


'8 4 the house of the wolf 

“Madame,” said Croisette, gravely, after a 
pause so prolonged that her smile faded pitifully 
from her face, scared by our strange looks. 
“Your husband has been some time away from 
you ? He only returned, I think, a week or two 
.ago ? ” 

“That is so,” she answered, naively, and our 
last hope vanished. “But what of that? He 
was back with me again, and only yesterday — 
only yesterday ! ” she continued, clasping her 
hands, “we were so happy.” 

“ And now, madame ? ” 

She looked at me, not comprehending. 

“ I mean,” I hastened to explain, “we do not 
understand how you come to be here. And 
a prisoner.” I was really thinking that her stoi.y 
might throw some light upon ours. 

“ I do not know, myself,” she said. “Yester- 
day, in the afternoon, I paid a visit to the Abbess 
of the Ursulines.” 

“Pardon me,” Croisette interposed quickly, 
“ but are you not of the new faith? A Hugue- 
not?” 

“Oh, yes,” she answered eagerly. “ But the 
Abbess is a very dear friend of mine, and no 
bigot. Oh, nothing of that kind, I assure you. 
When I am in Paris I visit her once a week. 
Yesterday, when I left her, she begged me to call 
here and deliver a message. ” 

“Then,” I said, “you know this house ? ” 

“Very well, indeed,” she replied. “ It is the 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


85 

sign of the ‘ Hand and Glove,’ one door out of the 
Rue Platriere. I have been in Master Mirepoix’s 
shop more than once before. I came here yes- 
terday to deliver the message, leaving my maid 
in the street, and I was asked to come upstairs, 
and still up until I reached this room. Asked to 
wait a moment, I began to think it strange that I 
should be brought to so wretched a place, when 
I had merely a message for Mirepoix’s ear -about 
some gauntlets. I tried the door; I found it 
locked. Then I was terrified, and made a 
noise.” 

We all nodded. We were busy building up 
theories — or it might be one and the same theory 
— to explain this. “Yes,” I said, eagerly. 

“Mirepoix came to me then. ‘What does 
this mean ? ’ I demanded. He looked ashamed 
of himself, but he barred my way. ‘Only this,’ 
he said at last, ‘ that your ladyship must remain 
here a few hours — two days at most. No harm 
whatever is intended to you. My wife will wait 
upon you, and when you leave us, all shall be 
explained.’ He would say no more, and it was 
in vain I asked him if he did not take me for 
some one else; if he thought I was mad. To 
all he answered, No. And when I dared him 
to detain me he threatened force. Then I suc- 
cumbed. I have been here since, suspecting I 
know not what, but fearing everything.” 

“That is ended, madame,” I answered, my 
hand on my breast, my soul in arms for her. 


86 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Here, unless I was mistaken, was one more un- 
happy and more deeply wronged even than Kit ; 
one too who owed her misery to the same villain. 
“ Were there nine glovers on the stairs,” I de- 
clared roundly, “we would take you out and 
take you home ! Where are your husband’s 
apartments ? ” 

‘‘In the Rue de Saint Merri, close to the 
church. We have a house there.” 

“ M. de Pavannes,” I suggested cunningly, 
“is doubtless distracted by your disappearance.” 

“ Oh, surely,” she answered with earnest 
simplicity, while the tears sprang to her eyes. 
Pier innocence — she had not the germ of a sus- 
picion — made me grind my teeth with wrath. 
Oh, the base wretch ! The miserable rascal ! 
What did the women see, I wondered — what had 
we all seen in this man, this Pavannes, that won 
for him our hearts, when he had only a stone to 
give in return ? 

I drew Croisette and Marie aside, apparently 
to consider how we might force the door. 
“What is the meaning of this?” I said softly, 
glancing at the unfortunate lady. “ What do 
you think, Croisette ? ” 

I knew well what the answer would be. 

“Think!” he cried with fiery impatience. 
“What can any one think except that that vil- 
lain Pavannes has himself planned his wife’s 
abduction ? Of course it is so ! Plis wife out of 
the way he is free to follow up his intrigues at 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 87 

Caylus. He may then marry Kit or Curse 

him ! ” 

* ‘No,” I said sternly, “ cursing is no good. 
We must do something more. And yet — we 
have promised Kit, you see, that we would save 
him — we must keep our word. We must save 
him from Bezers at least.” 

Marie groaned. 

But Croisette took up the thought with ardor. 
“ From Bezers ? ” he cried, his face aglow. “ Ay, 
true ! So we must ! But then we will draw lots, 
who shall fight him and kill him.” 

I extinguished him by a look. “We shall 
fight him in turn,” I said, “until one of us kill 
him. There you are right. But your turn comes 
last. Lots indeed ! We have no need of lots to 
learn which is the eldest.” 

I was turning from him — having very properly 
crushed him — to look for something which we 
could use to force the door, when he held up his 
hand to arrest my attention. We listened, look- 
ing at one another. Through the window came 
unmistakable sounds of voices. “They have 
discovered our flight,” I said, my heart sinking. 

Luckily we had had the forethought to draw 
the curtain across the casement. Bezers’ people 
could therefore, from their window, see no more 
than ours, dimly lighted and indistinct. Yet they 
would no doubt guess the way we had escaped, 
and hasten to cut off our retreat below. For a 
moment I looked at the door of our room, half- 


88 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


minded to attack it, and fight our way out, tak- 
ing the chance of reaching the street before 
Bezers’ folk should have recovered from their 
surprise and gone down. But then I looked at 
Madame. How could we ensure her safety in 
the struggle ? While I hesitated the choice was 
taken from us. We heard voices in the house 
below, and heavy feet on the stairs. 

We were between two fires. I glanced irreso- 
lutely round the bare garret, with its sloping roof, 
searching for a better weapon. I had only my 
dagger. But in vain. I saw nothing that would 
serve. “ What will you do?” Madame de Pa- 
vannes murmured, standing pale and trembling 
by the hearth, and looking from one to another. 
Croisette plucked my sleeve before I could an- 
swer, and pointed to the box-bed with its scanty 
curtains. “ If they see us in the room,” he urged 
softly, “ while they are half in and half out, they 
will give the alarm. Let us hide ourselves yon- 
der. When they are inside — you understand ? ” 

He laid his hand on his dagger. The muscles 
of the lad’s face grew tense. I did understand 
him. “Madame,” I said quickly, “ you will not 
betray us ? ” 

She shook her head. The color returned to 
her cheek, and the brightness to her eyes. She 
was a true woman. The sense that she was pro- 
tecting others deprived her of fear for herself. 

The footsteps were on the topmost stair now, 
and a key was thrust with a rasping sound into 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


the lock. But before it could be turned — it fortu- 
nately fitted ill — we three had jumped on the bed 
and were crouching in a row at the head of it,, 
where the curtains of the alcove concealed, and 
only just concealed us, from any one standing at 
the end of the room near the door. 

I was the outermost, and through a chink could 
see what passed. One, two, three people came 
in, and the door was closed behind them. Three 
people, and one of them a woman ! My heart — 
which had been in my mouth — returned to its 
place, for the Vidame was not one. I breathed 
freely ; only I dared not communicate my relief 
to the others, lest my voice should be heard. 
The first to come in was the woman closely 
cloaked and hooded. Madame de Pavannes cast 
on her a single doubtful glance, and then to my 
astonishment threw herself into her arms, min- 
gling her sobs with little joyous cries of “ Oh, 
Diane ! oh, Diane ! ” 

“My poor little one!” the newcomer ex- 
claimed, soothing her with tender touches on 
hair and shoulder. “You are safe now. Quite 
safe ! ” 

“You have come to take me away ? ” 

“Of course we have ! ” Diane answered cheer- 
fully, still caressing her. “We have come to 
take you to your husband. He has been search- 
ing for you everywhere. He is distracted with 
grief, little one.” 

“ Poor Louis ! ” ejaculated the wife. 


9 ° 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“Poor Louis, indeed!” the rescuer answered. 
“But you will see him soon. We only learned 
at midnight where you were. You have to thank 
M. le Coadjuteur here for that. He brought me 
the news, and at once escorted me here to 
fetch you.” 

“And to restore one sister to another,” said 
the priest silkily, as he advanced a step. He was 
the very same priest whom I had seen two hours 
before with Bezers, and had so greatly disliked ! 
I hated his pale face as much now as I had then. 
Even the errand of good on which he had come 
could not blind me to his thin-lipped mouth, to 
his mock humility and crafty eyes. “I have had 
no task so pleasant for many days,” added he, 
with every appearance of a desire to propitiate. 

But, seemingly, Madame de Pavannes had 
something of the same feeling towards him which 
I had myself ; for she started at the sound of his 
voice, and disengaging herself from her sister’s 
arms — it seemed it was her sister — shrank back 
from the pair. She bowed indeed in acknowledg- 
ment of his words. But there was little gratitude 
in the movement, and less warmth. I saw the 
sister’s face — a brilliantly beautiful face it was — 
brighter eyes and lips and more lovely auburn 
hair I have never seen — even Kit would have 
been plain and dowdy beside her — I saw it 
harden strangely. A moment before, the two had 
been in one another’s arms. Now they stood 
apart, somehow chilled and disillusioned. The 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


91 

shadow of the priest had fallen upon them — had 
come between them. 

At this crisis the fourth person present asserted 
himself. Hitherto he had stood silent just within 
the door : a plain man, plainly dressed, some- 
what over sixty and gray-haired. He looked dis- 
concerted and embarrassed, and I took him for 
Mirepoix — rightly as it turned out. 

“I am sure,” he now exclaimed, his voice 
trembling with anxiety, or it might be with fear, 
“your ladyship will regret leaving here ! You 
will indeed ! No harm would have happened to 
you. Madame d’O does not know what she is 
doing, or she would not take you away. She 
does not know what she is doing ! ” he repeated 
earnestly. 

“ Madame d’O ! ” cried the beautiful Diane, her 
brown eyes darting fire at the unlucky culprit, her 
voice full of angry disdain. “How dare you — 
such as you — mention my name ? Wretch ! ” 

She flung the last word at him, and the priest 
took it up. “Ay, wretch ! Wretched man in- 
deed ! ”he repeated slowly, stretching out his long 
thin hand and laying it like the claw of some bird 
of prey on the tradesman’s shoulder, which 
flinched, I saw, under the touch. “How dare 
you — such as you — meddle with matters of the 
nobility ? Matters that do not concern you ? 
Trouble ! I see trouble hanging over this house, 
Mirepoix ! Much trouble ! ” 

The miserable fellow trembled visibly under the 


9 2 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


covert threat. His face grew pale. His lips 
quivered. He seemed fascinated by the priest's 
gaze. “I am a faithful son of the church,'’ he 
muttered ; but his voice shook so that the words 
were scarcely audible. “I am known to be 
such ! None better known in Paris, M. le 
Coadjuteur.” 

“Men are known by their works ! ” the priest 
retorted. “Now, now,” he continued, abruptly 
raising his voice, and lifting his hand in a kind of 
exaltation, real or feigned, “is the appointed time ! 
And now is the day of salvation ! And woe, Mire- 
poix, woe ! woe ! to the backslider, and to him 
that putteth his hand to the plough and looketh 
back to-night ! ” 

The layman cowered and shrank before his 
fierce denunciation ; while Madame de Pavannes 
gazed from one to the other as if her dislike for 
the priest were so great that seeing the two thus 
quarrelling, she almost forgave Mirepoix his 
offence. “ Mirepoix said he could explain,” she 
murmured irresolutely. 

The Coadjutor fixed his baleful eyes on him. 
“Mirepoix,” he said grimly, “can explain 
nothing ! Nothing ! I dare him to explain ! ” 

And certainly Mirepoix thus challenged was 
silent. ‘ ‘ Come, ” the priest continued peremptorily, 
turning to the lady who had entered with him, 
“your sister must leave with us at once. We 
have no time to lose.” 

“But what — what does it mean ?” Madame 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


93 

de Pavannes said, as though she hesitated even 
now. 

“ Is there danger still ? ” 

“ Danger ! ” the priest exclaimed, his form 
seeming to swell, and the exaltation I had before 
read in his voice and manner again asserting it- 
self. “1 put myself at your service, Madame, 
and danger disappears ! I am as God to-night 
with powers of life and death ! You do not under- 
stand me ? Presently you shall. But you are 
ready. We will go then. Out of the way, fel- 
low ! ” he thundered, advancing upon the door. 

But Mirepoix, who had placed himself with his 
back to it, to my astonishment did not give way. 
Plis full bourgeois face was pale ; yet peeping 
through my chink, I read in it a desperate resolu- 
tion. And oddly — very oddly, because I knew 
that, in keeping Madame de Pavannes a prisoner, 
he must be in the wrong — I sympathized with 
him. Low-bred trader, tool of Pavannes though 
he was, I sympathized with him, when he said 
firmly. 

“ She shall not go ! ” 

“ I say she shall ! ” the priest shrieked, losing 
all control over himself. “ Fool ! Madman ! 
You know not what you do!” As the words 
passed his lips, he made an adroit forward move- 
ment, surprised the other, clutched him by the 
arms, and with a strength I should never have 
thought lay in his meagre frame, flung him some 
paces into the room. “ Fool ! ” he hissed, shaking 


94 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


his crooked fingers at him in malignant triumph. 
“There is no man in Paris, do you hear— or 
woman either — shall thwart me to-night ! ” 

‘ ‘ Is that so ? Indeed ? ” 

The words, and the cold, cynical voice, were 
not those of Mirepoix ; they came from behind. 
The priest wheeled round, as if he had been 
stabbed in the back. I clutched Croisette, and 
arrested the cramped limb I was moving under 
cover of the noise. The speaker was Bezers ! 
He stood in the open doorway, his great form 
filling it from post to post, the old gibing smile 
on his face. We had been so taken up; actors 
and audience alike, with the altercation, that no one 
had heard him ascend the stairs. He still wore 
the black and silver suit, but it was half-hidden 
now under a dark riding cloak which just dis- 
closed the glitter of his weapons. He was booted 
and spurred and gloved as for a journey. 

“Is that so ? ” he repeated mockingly, as his 
gaze rested in turn on each of the four, and then 
travelled sharply round the room. “ So you will 
not be thwarted by any man in Paris, to-night, 
eh? Have you considered, my dear Coadjutor, 
what a large number of people there are in Paris? 
It would amuse me very greatly now — and I’m 
sure it would the ladies too, who must pardon my 
abrupt entrance — to see you put to the test ; 
pitted against — shall we say the Duke of Anjou ? 
Or M. de Guise, our great man ? Or the Admiral? 
Say the Admiral foot to foot ? ” 


A PRIEST AND A WOMAN 


95 


Rage and fear — rage at the intrusion, fear of the 
intruder — struggled in the priests face. “How 
do you come here, and what do you want ? ” he 
inquired hoarsely. If looks and tones could kill, 
we three, trembling behind ourflimsy screen, had 
been freed at that moment from our enemy. 

“I have come in search of the young birds 
whose necks you were for stretching, my friend ! ” 
was Bezer’s answer. “ They have vanished. 
Birds they must be, for unless they have ccme 
into this house by that window, they nave flown 
away with wings.’" 

“ They have not passed this way,” the priest 
declared stoutly, eager only to get rid of the other 
• — and I blessed him for the words ! “I have 
been here since I left you. ” 

But the Vidame was not one to accept any 
man’s statement, “Thank you ; I think I will 
see for myself, ” he answered coolly. ‘ * Madame,” 
he continued, speaking to Madame de Pavannes 
as he passed her, “ permit me.” 

He did not look at her, or see her emotion, or I 
think he must have divined our presence. And 
happily the others did not suspect her of knowing 
more than they did. He crossed the floor at his 
leisure, and sauntered to the window, watched by 
them with impatience. He drew aside the curtain, 
and tried each of the bars, and peered through 
the opening, both up and down. An oath and an 
expression of wonder escaped him. The bars 
were standing, and firm and strong ; and it did 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


96 

not occur to him that we could have passed 
between them. I am afraid to say how few 
inches they were apart. 

As he turned, he cast a casual glance at the bed 
^at us ; and hesitated. He had the candle in 
his hand, having taken it to the window the better 
to examine the bars ; and it obscured his sight. 
He did not see us. The three crouching forms, the 
strained white faces, the starting eyes, that lurked 
in the shadow of the curtain escaped him. The 
wild beating of our hearts did not reach his ears. 
And it was well for him that it was so. If he had 
come up to the bed I think that we should have 
killed him, I know that we should have tried. 
All the blood in me had gone to my head, and I 
saw him through a haze — larger than life. The 
exact spot near the buckle of his cloak where I 
would strike him, downwards and inwards, an 
inch above the collar-bone, — this only I saw 
clearly. I could not have missed it. But he 
turned away, his face darkening, and went back 
to the group near the door, and never knew the 
risk he had run. 


MADAME'S FRIGHT 


97 


CHAPTER VI. 

madame’s fright. 

And we breathed again. The agony of sus- 
pense, which Bezers’ pause had created, passed 
away. But the night aiready seemed to us as a 
week of nights. An age of experience, an aeon of 
an adventures cut us off — as we lay shaking behind 
the curtain — from Caylus and its life. Paris had 
proved itself more treacherous than we had even 
expected to find it. Everything and everyone 
shifted, and wore one face one minute, and one 
another. We had come to save Pavannes’ life at 
the risk of our own ; we found him to be a vil- 
lain ! Here was Mirepoix owning himself a 
treacherous wretch, a conspirator against a 
woman ; we sympathized with him. The priest 
had come upon a work of charity and rescue ; we 
loathed the sound of his voice, and shrank from 
him, we knew not why, seeming only to read a 
dark secret, a gloomy threat in each doubtful 
word he uttered. He was the strangest enigma 
of all. Why did we fear him ? Why did Madame 
de Pavannes, who apparently had known him 
before, shudder at the touch of his hand ? Why 
7 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


9 S 

did his shadow come even between her and her 
sister, and estrange them ? so that from the 
moment Pavannes’ wife saw him standing by 
Diane’s side, she forgot that the latter had come 
to save, and looked on her in doubt and sorrow, 
almost with repugnance. 

We left the Vidame going back to the fireplace. 
He stooped to set down the candle by the hearth. 
“ They are not here,” he said, as he straightened 
himself again, and looked curiously at his com- 
panions. He had apparently been too much 
taken up with the pursuit to notice them before. 
“That is certain, so I have the less time to lose,” 
he continued. “But I would — yes, my dear 
Coadjutor, I certainly would like to know before I 
go, what you are doing here. Mirepoix — Mire- 
poix is an honest man. I did not expect to find 
you in his house. And two ladies? Two ! Fie, 
Coadjutor. Ha ! Madame d’O, is it ? My dear 
lady,” he continued, addressing her in a whimsi- 
cal tone, “do not start at the sound of your own 
name ! It would take a hundred hoods to hide 
your eyes, or bleach your lips to the common 
color ; I should have known you at once, 
had I looked at you. And your companion? 
Pheugh?” 

He broke off, whistling softly. It was clear 
that he recognized Madame de Pavannes, and 
recognized her with astonishment. The bed 
creaked as I craned my neck to see what would 
follow. Even the priest seemed to think that 


MADAME' S FRIGHT 


99 

some explanation was necessary, for he did not 
wait to be questioned. 

“Madame de Pavannes,” he said in a dry, 
husky voice, and without looking up, “was 
spirited hither yesterday ; and detained against 
her will by this good man, who will have to an- 
swer for it. Madame d’O discovered her where- 
abouts, and asked me to escort her here without 
loss of time to enforce her sisters release.” 

“And her restoration to her distracted hus- 
band ? ” 

“Just so,” the priest assented, acquiring con- 
fidence, I thought. 

“ And Madame desires to go ? ” 

“ Surely ! Why not ? ” 

“Well, the Vidame drawled, his manner such 
as to bring the blood to Madame de Pavannes’ 
cheek, “it depends on the person who — to use 
your phrase, M. le Coadjuteur — spirited her 
hither.” 

“And that,” Madame herself retorted, raising 
her head, while her voice quivered with indig- 
nation and anger, “was the Abbess of the Ursu- 
lines. Your suspicions are base, worthy of you 
and unworthy of me, M. le Vidame ! Diane ! ” 
she continued sharply, taking her sister’s arm, 
and casting a disdainful glance at Bezene, “ let us 
go. I want to be with my husband. I am 
stifled in this room. ” 

“We are going, little one,” Diane murmured 
reassuringly. But I noticed that the speaker’s 


100 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


animation, which had been as a soul to her 
beauty when she entered the room, was gone. 
A strange stillness — was it fear of the Vidame ? — • 
had taken its place. 

“ The Abbess of the Ursulines ? ” Bezers com 
tinued thoughtfully. “ She brought you here, 
did she ? ” There was surprise, genuine surprise, 
in his voice. “A good soul, and, I think I have 
heard, a friend of yours. Umph ! ” 

“ A very dear friend,” Madame answered 
stiffly. “ Now, Diane ! ” 

“A dear friend ! And she spirited you hither 
yesterday ! ” co ^mented the Vidame, with the air 
of one solvin' an anagram. ‘‘And Mirepoix 
detained you ; respectable Mirepoix, who is said 
to have a well-filled stocking under his pallet, 
and stands well with the bourgeoisie. He is in 
the plot. Then at a very late hour, your affec- 
tionate sister, and my good friend the Coadjutor, 
enter to save you. From what ? ” 

No one spoke. The priest looked down, his 
cheek livid with anger. 

“From what?” Bezers continued with grim 
playfulness. “ There is the mystery. From the 
clutches of this profligate Mirepoix, I suppose. 
From the dangerous Mirepoix. Upon my hon- 
or,” with a sudden ring of resolution in his tone, 
“I think you are safer here; I think you had 
better stay where you are, Madame, until morn: 
ing ! And risk Mirepoix ! ” 

“Oh, no! no l” Madame cried vehemently. 


MA DAME’S FRIGHT 


ior 


“Oh, yes ! yes ! ” he replied. “What do you 
say, Coadjutor ? Do you not think so ? ” 

The priest looked down sullenly. His voice 
shook as he murmured in answer, “ Madame 
will please herself. She has a character, M. le 
Vidame. But if she prefer to stay here — well ! ” 

“Oh, she has a character, has she?” rejoined 
the giant, his eyes twinkling with evil mirth, 
“ and she should go home with you, and my old 
friend Madame d’O, to save it ! That is it, is it ? 
No, no,” he continued when he had had his silent 
laugh out, “Madame de Pavannes will do very 
well here — very well here until morning. We 
ha 're work to do. Come. Let us go and do it.” 

' ‘ Do you mean it ? ” said the priest, starting 
and looking up with a subtle challenge — almost 
a threat — in his tone. 

“Yes, I do.” 

Their eyes met : and seeing their looks, I 
chuckled, nudging Croisette. No fear of their 
discovering us now. I recalled the old proverb 
which says that when thieves fall out, honest 
frien come by their own, and speculated on the 
chance of the priest freeing us once for all from 
M. de Bezers. 

But the two were ill-matched. The Vidame 
could have taken up the other with one hand and 
dashed his head on the floor. And it did not end 
there. I doubt if in craft the priest was his 
equal. Behind a frank brutality Bezers — unless 
his reputation belied him — concealed an Italian 


102 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


intellect. Under a cynical recklessness he veiled 
a rare cunning and a constant suspicion ; enjoy- 
ing in that respect a combination of apparently 
opposite qualities, which I have known no other 
man to possess in an equal degree, unless it 
might be his late majesty, Henry the Great. A 
child would have suspected the priest ; a veteran 
might have been taken in by the Vid .me. 

And indeed the priest’s eyes presently sank. 
“Our bargain is to go for nothing? ” he muttered 
sullenly. 

“I know of no bargain,” quoth the Vidame. 
“And I have no time to lose, splitting hairs here. 
Set it down to what you like. Say it is a whim 
of mine, a fad, a caprice. Only understand that 

Madame de Pavannes stays. We go. And ” 

he added this, as a sudden thought seemed to 
strike him, “though I would not willingly use 
compulsion to a lady, I think Madame d’O had 
better come too.” 

“You speak masterfully,” the priest said with 
a sneer, forgetting the tone he had himself used 
a few minutes before to Mirepoix. 

“Just so. I have forty horsemen over the 
way,” was the dry answer. “For the moment, 
I am master of the legions, Coadjutor.” 

“That is true,” Madame d’O said; so softly 
that I started. She had scarcely spoken since 
Bezers’ entrance. As she spoke now, she shook 
back the hood from her face and disclosed the 
chestnut hair clinging about her temples — deep 


MAD AWE'S FRIGHT 


103 

blots of color on the abnormal whiteness of her 
skin. “That is true, M. de Bezers,” she said. 
“You have the legions. You have the power. 
But you will not use it, I think, against an old 

friend. You will not do us this hurt when I 

But listen.” 

He would not. In the very middle of her ap- 
peal he cut her short — brute that he was ! “No, 
Madame ! ” he burst out violently, disregarding 
the beautiful face, the supplicating glance, that 
might have moved a stone, “that is just what I 
will not do. I will not listen ! We know one 
another. Is not that enough ? ” 

She looked at him fixedly. He returned her 
gaze, not smiling now, but eyeing her with a 
curious watchfulness. 

And after a long pause she turned from 
him. “Very well,” she said softly, and drew 
a deep, quivering breath, the sound of which 
reached us. “ Then let us go.” And without — 
strangest thing of all — bestowing a word or 
look on her sister, who was weeping bitterly in 
a chair, she turned to the door and led the way 
out, a shrug of her shoulders the last thing I 
marked. 

The poor lady heard her departing step, how- 
ever, and sprang up. It dawned upon her that 
she was being deserted. “ Diane ! Diane ! ” she 
cried distractedly — and I had to put my hand on 
Croisette to keep him quiet, there was such fear 
and pain in her tone — “ I will go ! I will not be 


i04 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


left behind in this dreadful place ! Do you hear? 
Come back to me, Diane ! ” 

It made my blood run wildly. But Diane did 
not come back. Strange ! And Bezers too was 
unmoved. He stood between the poor woman 
and the door, and by a gesture bid Mirepoix and 
the priest pass out before him. “ Madame, ” he 
said — and his voice, stern and hard as ever, ex- 
pressed no jot of compassion for her, rather such 
an impatient contempt as a puling chili might 
elicit — “ you are safe here. And here y^ou will 
stop ! Weep if you please,” he added cynic- 
ally, “you will have fewer tears to shed to- 
morrow.” 

His last words — they certainly were odd ones 
— arrested her attention. She checked her sobs, 
being frightened I think, and looked up at him. 
Perhaps he had spoken with this in view, for 
while she still stood at gaze, her hands pressed to 
her bosom, he slipped quickly out and closed the 
door behind him. I heard a muttering for an in- 
stant outside, and then the tramp of feet descend- 
ing the stairs. They were gone, and we were 
still undiscovered. 

For Madame, she had clean forgotten our pres- 
ence — of that I am sure — and the chance of 
escape we might afford. On finding herself alone 
she gazed a short time., in alarmed silence at the 
door, and then ran to the window and peered out, 
still trembling, terrified, silent. So she remained 
a while. 


MA DAME'S FRIGHT 


105 


She had not noticed that Bezers on going out 
had omitted to lock the door behind him. I had. 
But I was unwilling to move hastily. Some one 
might return to see to it before the Vidame left 
the house. And besides the door was not over 
strong, and if locked would be no obstacle to the 
three of us when we had only Mirepoix to deal 
with. So I kept the others where they were by a 
nudge and a pinch, and held my breath a mo- 
ment, straining my ears to catch the closing of 
the door below. I did not hear that. But I did 
catch a sound that otherwise might have escaped 
me, but which now riveted my eyes to the door 
of our room. Some one in the silence, which 
followed the trampling on the stairs, had cau- 
tiously laid a hand on the latch. 

The light in the room was dim. Mirepoix had 
taken one of the candles with him. and the other 
wanted snuffing. I could not see whether the 
latch moved ; whether or no it was rising. But 
watching intently, I made out that the door was 
being opened — slowly, noiselessly. I saw some- 
one enter — a furtive gliding shadow. 

For a moment I felt nervous — then I recognized 
the dark hooded figure. It was only Madame 
d’O. Brave woman ! She had evaded the Vi- 
dame and slipped back to the rescue. Ha, ha ! 
We would defeat the Vidame yet ! Things were 
going better ! 

But then something in her manner — as she 
stood holding the door and peering into the room 


106 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

— something in her bearing startled and frightened 
me. As she came forward her movements were 
so stealthy that her footsteps made no sound. 
Her dark shadow, moving ahead of her across the 
floor, was not more silent than she. An unde- 
fined desire to make a noise, to give the alarm, 
seized me. 

Half-way across the room she stopped to listen, 
and looked round, startled herself, I think, by the 
silence. She could not see her sister, whose fig- 
ure was blurred by the outlines of the curtain ; 
and no doubt she was puzzled to think what had 
become of her. The suspense which I felt, but 
did not understand, was so great that at last I 
moved, and the bed creaked. 

In a moment her face was turned our way, and 
she glided forwards, her features still hidden by 
the hood of her cloak. She was close to us now, 
bending over us. She raised her hand to her 
head — to shade her eyes, as she looked more 
closely, I supposed, and I was wondering 
whether she saw us — whether she took the shape- 
lessness in the shadow of the curtain for her 
sister, or could not make it out — I was thinking 
how we could best apprise her of our presence 
without alarming her — when Croisette dashed my 
thoughts to the winds ! Croisette, with a trem- 
endous whoop and a crash, bounded over me on 
to the floor ! 

She uttered a gasping cry — a cry of intense, 
awful fear. I have the sound in my ears even 


MADAME' S FRIGHT 


107 

now. With that she staggered back, clutching 
the air. I heard the metallic clang and ring of 
something falling on the floor. I heard an an- 
swering cry of alarm from the window ; and then 
Madame de Pavannes ran forward and caught 
her in her arms. 

It was strange to find the room lately so silent 
become at once alive with whispering forms, as 
we came hastily to light. I cursed Croisette for 
his folly, and was immeasurably angry with him, 
but I had no time to waste words on him then. 
I hurried to the door to guard it. I opened it 
a hand’s breadth and listened. All was quiet 
below ; the house still. I took the key out of the 
lock and put it in my pocket and went back. 
Marie and Croisette were standing a little apart 
from Madame de Pavannes, who, hanging over 
her sister, was by turns bathing her face and 
explaining our presence. 

In a very few minutes Madame d’O seemed 
to recover, and sat up. The first shock of deadly 
terror had passed, but she was still pale. She 
still trembled, and shrank from meeting our eyes, 
though I saw her, when our attention was appa- 
rently directed elsewhere, glance at one and an- 
other of us with a strange intentness, a shudder- 
ing curiosity. No wonder, I thought. She must 
have had a terrible fright — one that might have 
killed a more timid woman ! 

“ What on earth did you do that for? ” I asked 
Croisette presently, my anger certainly not de- 


108 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

creasing the more I looked at her beautiful face. 
“ You might have killed her ! ” 

In charity I supposed his nerves had failed him, 
for he could not even now give me a straightfor- 
ward answer. His only reply was, “ Let us get 
away ! Let us get away from this horrible 
house ! ” and this he kept repeating with a 
shudder as he moved restlessly to and fro. 

“With all my heart ! ” I answered, looking at 
him with some contempt. “ That is exactly 
what we are going to do ! ” 

But all the same his words reminded me of 
something which in the excitement of the scene 
I had momentarily forgotten, and that was our 
duty. Pavannes must still be saved, though not 
for Kit ; rather to answer to us for his sins. But 
he must be saved ! And now that the road was 
open, every minute lost was reproach to us. 
“Yes,” I added roughly, my thoughts turned into 
a more rugged channel, “you are right. This 
is no time for nursing. We must be going. 
Madame de Pavannes,” I went on, addressing 
myself to her, “you know the way home from 
here — to your house ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she cried. 

“That is well,” I answered. “Then we will 
start. Your sister is sufficiently recovered now, 
I think. And we will not risk any further delay. ” 
I did not tell her of her husbands danger, or 
that we suspected him of wronging her, and be- 
ing in fact the cause of her detention. I wanted 


MADAME'S FRIGHT 100 

her services as a guide. That was the main 
point, though I was glad to be able to put her in 
a place of safety at the same time that we ful- 
filled our own mission. 

She rose eagerly. “You are sure that we can 
get out ? ” she said. 

“Sure,” I replied, with a brevity worthy of 
Bezers himself. 

And I was right. We trooped downstairs, 
making as little noise as possible ; with the result 
that Mirepoix only took the alarm, and came 
upon us when we were at the outer door, bun- 
gling with the lock. Then I made short work of 
him, checking his scared words of remonstrance 
by flashing my dagger before his eyes. I in- 
duced him in the same fashion — he was fairly 
taken by surprise — to undo the fastenings him- 
self; and so, bidding him follow us at his peril, 
we slipped out one by one. We softly closed the 
door behind us. And lo ! we were at last free — 
free and in the streets of Paris, with the cool 
night air fanning our brows. A church hard by 
tolled the hour of two ; and the strokes were 
echoed, before we had gone many steps along 
the ill-paved way, by the solemn tones of the 
bell of Notre Dame. 

We were free and in the streets, with a guide 
who knew the way. If Bezers had not gone 
straight from us to his vengeance, we might 
thwart him yet. I strode along quickly, Madame 
«T0 by my side, the others a little way in front 


110 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Here and there an oil-lamp, swinging from a pul- 
ley in the middle of the road, enabled us to avoid 
some obstacle more foul than usual, or to leap 
over a pool which had formed in the kennel. 
Even in my excitement, my country-bred senses 
rebelled against the sights, and smells, the noi- 
some air and oppressive closeness of the streets. 

The town was quiet, and very dark where the 
smoky lamps were not hanging. Yet I wondered 
if it ever slept, for more than once we had to 
stand aside to give passage to a party of men, 
hurrying along with links and arms. Several 
times too, especially towards the end of our walk, 
I was surprised by the flashing of bright lights in 
a courtyard, the door of which stood half open to 
right or left. Once I saw the glow of torches re- 
flected ruddily in the windows of a tall and splen- 
did mansion, a little withdrawn from the street. 
The source of the lignt was in the fore-court, 
hidden from us by a low wall, but I caught the 
murmur of voices and stir of many feet. Once a 
gate was stealthily opened and two armed men 
looked out, the act and their manner of doing it, 
reminding me on the instant of those who had 
peeped out to inspect us some hours before in 
Bezers’ house. And once, nay twice, in the 
mouth of a narrow alley I discerned a knot of 
men standing motionless in the gloom. There 
was an air of mystery abroad, a feeling as of 
solemn stir and preparation going on under cover 
of the darkness, which awed and unnerved m& 


MA DAME'S FRIGHT 


ill 


But I said nothing of this, and Madame d’O 
was equally silent. Like most countrymen I was 
ready to believe in any exaggeration of the city’s 
late hours, the more as she made no remark. I 
supposed — shaking off the momentary impression 
— that what I saw was innocent and normal. 
Besides, I was thinking what I should say to Pa- 
vannes when I saw him — in what terms I should 
warn him of his peril, and cast his perfidy in his 
teeth. 

We had hurried along in this way — and in ab- 
solute silence, save when some obstacle or pitfall 
drew from us an exclamation — for about a quarter 
of a mile, when my companion, turning into a 
slightly wider street, slackened her speed, and in- 
dicated by a gesture that we had arrived. A lamp 
hung over the porch, to which she pointed, and 
showed the small side gate half open. We were 
close behind the other three now. I saw Croi- 
sette stoop to enter and as quickly fall back a 
pace. Why ? 

In a moment it flashed across my mind that 
we were too late — that the Vidame had been be- 
fore us. 

And yet how quiet it all was. 

Then I breathed freely again. I saw that 
Croisette had only stepped back to avoid some 
one who was coming otit — the Coadjutor in fact. 
The moment the entrance was clear, the lad 
shot in, and the others after him, the priest taking 
no notice of them, nor they of him. 


1 12 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I was for going in too, when I felt Madame 
d’O's hand tighten suddenly on my arm, and then 
fall from it. Apprised of something by this, I 
glanced at the priest’s face, catching sight of it by 
chance just as his eyes met hers. His face was 
white — nay it was ugly with disappointment and 
rage, bitter snarling rage, that was hardly human. 
He grasped her by the arm roughly and twisted 
her round without ceremony, so as to draw her a 
few paces aside ; yet not so far that I could not 
hear what they said. 

“He is not here ! ” he hissed. “ Do you un- 
derstand? He crossed the river to the Faubourg 
St. Germain at nightfall — searching for her. And 
he has not come back ! He is on the other side 
of the water, and midnight has struck this hour 
past ! ” 

She stood silent for a moment as if she had 
received a blow — silent and dismayed. Some- 
thing serious had happened. I could see that. 

“He cannot recross the river now?” she said 
after a time. “The gates ” 

“Shut ! ” he replied briefly. “ The keys are at 
the Louvre.” 

“And the boats are on this side ? ” 

“Every boat!” he answered, striking his one 
hand on the other with violence. “ Every boati 
No one may cross until it is over.” 

“And the Faubourg St. Germain ?” she said in 
a lower voice. 

“ There will be nothing done there. Nothing ! " 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


113 


CHAPTER VII. 

A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT. 

I would gladly have left the two together, and 
gone straight into the house. I was eager now 
to discharge the errand on which I had come so 
far ; and apart from this I had no liking for the 
priest or wish to overhear his talk. His anger, 
however, was so patent, and the rudeness with 
which he treated Madame d’O so pronounced that 
I felt I could not leave her with him unless she 
should dismiss me. So I stood patiently enough 
— and awkwardly enough too, I daresay — by the 
door, while they talked on in subdued tones. 
Nevertheless, I felt heartily glad when at length, 
the discussion ending, Madame came back to me. 
I offered her my arm to help her over the wooden 
foot of the side gate. She laid her hand on it, 
but she stood still. 

“ M. de Caylus,” she said ; and at that stopped. 
Naturally I looked at her, and our eyes met. 
Hers brown and beautiful, shining in the light of 
the lamp overhead looked into mine. Her lips 
were half parted, and one fair tress of hair had 
escaped from her hood. “M. de Caylus. will 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


114 

you do me a favor,” she resumed, softly, “a 
favor for which I shall always be grateful ? ” 

I sighed. “Madame,” I said earnestly, for I 
felt the solemnity of the occasion, “I swear that 
in ten minutes, if the task I now have in hand be 
finished, I will devote my life to your service. 
For the present ” 

“Well, for the present ? But it is the present I 
want, Master Discretion.” 

“I must see M. de Pavannes ! I am pledged 
to it,” I ejaculated. 

“To see M. de Pavannes?” 

“Yes.” 

I was conscious that she was looking at me 
with eyes of doubt, almost of suspicion. 

“Why? Why?” she asked with evident sur- 
prise. “You have restored — and nearly fright- 
ened me to death in doing it — his wife to her 
home ; what more do you want with him, most 
valiant knight-errant ? ” 

“ I must see him,” I said firmly. I would have 
told her all and been thankful, but the priest was 
within hearing — or barely out of it ; and I had 
seen too much pass between him and Bezers to be 
willing to say anything before him. 

“You must see M. de Pavannes?” she re- 
peated, gazing at me. 

“I must,” I replied with decision. 

“Then you shall. That is exactly what I am 
going to help you to do,” she exclaimed. “He 
is not here. That is what is the matter. He 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


”5 


went out at nightfall seeking news of his wife, 
and crossed the river, the Coadjutor says, to the 
Faubourg St. Germain. Now it is of the utmost 
importance that he should return before morning 
— return here.” 

“But is he not here?” I said, finding all my 
calculations at fault. “You are sure of it, 
Madame ? ” 

“Quite sure,” she answered rapidly. “Your 
brothers will have by this time discovered the 
fact. Now, M. de Caylus, Pavannes must be 
brought here before morning, not only for his 
wife's sake — though she will be wild with anxiety 
— but also ” 

“I know,” I said, eagerly interrupting her, 
“for his own too! There is a danger threaten- 
ing him.” 

She turned swiftly, as if startled, and I turned, 
and we looked at the priest. I thought we 
understood one another. “There is,” she an- 
swered softly, “and I would save him from that 
danger ; but he will only be safe, as I happen to 
know, here ! Here, you understand ! He must 
be brought here before daybreak, M. de Caylus. 
He must ! He must ! ” she exclaimed, her beau- 
tiful features hardening with the earnestness of 
her feelings. “And the Coadjutor cannot go. I 
cannot go. There is only one man who can save 
him, and that is yourself. There is, above all, 
not a moment to be lost.” 

My thoughts were in a whirl. Even as she 


Il6 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

spoke she began to walk back the way we had 
come, her hand on my arm ; and I, doubtful, and 
in a confused way unwilling, went with her. I 
did not clearly understand the position. I would 
have wished to go in and confer with Marie and 
Croisette ; but the juncture had occurred so 
quickly, and it might be that time was as valu- 
able as she said, and — well, it was hard for me, a 
lad, to refuse her anything when she looked at 
me with appeal in her eyes. I did manage to 
stammer, “But I do not know Paris. I could 
not find my way, I am afraid, and it is night, 
Madame.” 

She released my arm and stopped. “Night ! ” 
she cried, with a scornful ring in her voice. 
“ Night ! I thought you were a man, not a boy ! 
You are afraid ! ” 

“Afraid,” I said hotly; “we Cayluses are 
never afraid.” 

“Then I can tell you the way, if that be your 
only difficulty. We turn here. Now, come in 
with me a moment,” she continued, “and I will 
give you something you will need — and your 
directions.” 

She had stopped at the door of a tall, narrow 
house, standing between larger ones in a street 
which appeared to me to be more airy and impor- 
tant than any I had yet seen. As she spoke, she 
rang the bell once, twice, thrice. The silvery 
tinkle had scarcely died away the third time be- 
fore the door opened silently ; I saw no one, but 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


ll 7 


she drew me into a narrow hall or passage. A 
taper in an embossed holder was burning on a 
chest. She took it up, and, telling me to follow 
her, led the way lightly up the stairs, and into a 
room, half-parlor half-bedroom — such a room 
as I had never seen before. It was richly hung 
from ceiling to floor with blue silk, and lighted 
by the soft rays of lamps shaded by Venetian 
globes of delicate hues. The scent of cedar- 
wood was in the air, and on the hearth in a 
velvet tray were some tiny puppies. A dainty 
disorder reigned everywhere. On one table a 
jewel-case stood open, on another lay some lace 
garments, two or three masks and a fan. A 
gemmed riding-whip and a silver-hilted poniard 
hung on the same peg. And, strangest of all, 
huddled away behind the door, I espied a plain, 
black-sheathed sword, and a man s gauntlets. 

She did not wait a moment, but went at once 
to the jewel-case. She took from it a gold ring — 
a heavy seal ring. She held this out to me in 
the most matter-of-fact way — scarcely turning, in 
fact. “ Put it on your finger,” she said hurriedly. 

If you are stopped by soldiers, or if they will 
not give' you a boat to cross the river, say boldly 
that you are on the king’s service. Call for the 
officer and show that ring. Play the man. Bid 
him stop you at his peril ! ” 

I hastily muttered my thanks, ana she as has- 
tily took something from a drawer, and tore it 
into strips. Before I knew what she was doing 


n8 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

she was on her knees by me, fastening a white 
band of linen round my left sleeve. Then she 
took my cap, and with the same precipitation 
fixed a fragment of the stuff in it, in the form of a 
rough cross. 

“There,” she said. “ Now, listen, M. de 
Caylus. There is more afoot to-night than you 
know of. Those badges will help you across to 
St. Germain, but the moment you land tear them 
off. Tear them off, remember. They will help 
you no longer. You will come back by the same 
boat, and will not need them. If you are seen 
to wear them as you return, they will command 
no respect, but on the contrary will bring you — 
and perhaps me — into trouble.” 

“ I understand,” I said, “but ” 

“You must ask no questions,” she retorted, 
waving one snowy finger before my eyes. “ My 
knight-errant must have faith in me, as I have in 
him ; or he would not be here at this time of 
night, and alone with me. But remember this 
also. When you meet Pavannes do not say you 
come from me. Keep that in your mind ; I will 
explain the reason afterwards. Say merely that 
his wife is found, and is wild with anxiety about 
him. If you say anything as to his danger he 
may refuse to come. Men are obstinate.” 

I nodded a smiling assent, thinking I under- 
stood. At the same time I permitted myself in 
my own mind a little discretion. Pavannes was 
not a fool, and the name of the Vidame — but, 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 119 

however, I should see. I had more to say to him 
than she knew of. Meanwhile she explained 
very carefully the three turnings I had to take 
to reach the river, and the wharf where boats 
most commonly lay, and the name of the house 
in which I should find M. de Pavannes. 

“He is at the Hotel de Bailli,” she said. 
“And there, I think that is all.” 

“No, not all,” I said hardily. “There is one 
thing I have not got. And that is a sword ! ” 

She followed the direction of my eyes, started, 
and laughed — a little oddly. But she fetched the 
weapon. “Take it, and do not,.” she urged, “do 
not lose time. Do not mention me to Pavannes. 
Do not let the white badges be seen as you re- 
turn. That is really all. And now good luck ! ” 
She gave me her hand to kiss. “ Good luck, my 
knight-errant, good luck — and come back to me 
soon ! ” 

She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she 
said these last words, and the same smile fol- 
lowed me downstairs : for she leaned over the 
stair-head with one of the lamps in her hand, and 
directed me how to draw the bolts. I took one 
backward glance as I did so at the fair stooping 
figure above me, the shining eyes, and tiny out- 
stretched hand, and then darting into the gloom 
I hurried on my way. 

I was in a strange mood. A few minutes before 
I had been at Pavannes’ door, at the end of our 
journey ; on the verge of success. I had been 


120 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


within an ace, as I supposed at least, of execut- 
ing my errand. I had held the cup of success in 
my hand. And it had slipped. Now the conflict 
had to be fought over again ; the danger to be 
faced. It would have been no more than natural 
if I had felt the disappointment keenly : if I had 
almost despaired. 

But it was otherwise — far otherwise. Never 
had my heart beat higher or more proudly than as 
I now hurried through the streets, avoiding such 
groups as were abroad in them, and intent only 
on observing the proper turnings. Never in any 
moment of triumph in after days, in love or war, 
did anything like the exhilaration, the energy, the 
spirit, of those minutes come back to me. I had 
a womans badge in my cap — for the first time — 
the music of her voice in my ears. I had a magic 
ring on my finger : a talisman on my arm. My 
sword was at my side again. All round me lay a 
misty city of adventures, of danger and romance, 
full of the richest and most beautiful possibilities ; 
a city of real witchery, such as I had read of in 
stories, through which those fairy gifts and my 
right hand should guide me safely. I did not even 
regret my brothers, or our separation. I was the 
eldest. It was fitting that the cream of the enter- 
prise should be reserved for me, Anne de Caylus. 
And to what might it not lead ? In fancy I saw 
myself already a duke and a peer of France — 
already I held the baton. 

Yet while I exulted boyishly, I did not forget 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


121 


what I was about. I kept my eyes open, and 
soon remarked that the number of people passing 
to and fro in the dark streets had much increased 
within the last half-hour. The silence in which, 
in groups or singly, these figures stole by me was 
very striking. I heard no brawling, fighting or. 
singing ; yet if it were too late for these things, 
why were so many people up and about ? I 
began to count presently, and found that at least 
half of those I met wore badges in their hats and 
on their arms, similar to mine, and that they all 
moved with a business-like air, as if bound for 
some rendezvous. 

I was not a fool, though I was young, and in 
some matters less quick than Croisette. The hints 
which had been dropped by so many had not 
been lost on me. “ There is more afoot to-night 
than you know of ! ” Madame d’O had said. 
And having eyes as well as ears I fully believed it. 
Something was afoot. Something was going to 
happen in Paris before morning. But what, I 
wondered. Could it be that a rebellion was about 
to break out ? If so I was on the king's service, 
and all was well. I might even be going — and 
only eighteen — to make history ! Or was it only 
a brawl on a great scale between two parties of 
nobles ? I had heard of such things happening 
in Paris. Then — well I did not see how I could 
act in that case. I must be guided by events. 

I did not imagine anything else which it could 
be. That is the truth, though it may need expla- 


122 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


nation. I was accustomed only to the milder 
religious differences, the more evenly balanced 
parties of Quercy, where the peace between the 
Catholics and Huguenots had been welcome to all 
save a very few. I could not gauge therefore the 
fanaticism of the Parisian populace, and lost count 
of the factor, which made possible that which was 
going to happen — was going to happen in Paris 
before daylight as surely as the sun was going to 
rise ! I knew that the Huguenot nobles were 
present in the city in great numbers, but it did 
not occur to me that they could as a body be in 
danger. They were many and powerful, and as 
was said, in favor with the king. They were 
under the protection of the King of Navarre — 
France’s brother-in-law of a week, and the Prince 
of Conde ; and though these princes were young, 
Coligny the sagacious admiral was old, and not 
much the worse I had learned for his wound. He 
at least was high in royal favor, a trusted coun- 
sellor. Plad not the king visited him on his sick- 
bed and sat by him for an hour together ? 

Surely, I thought, if there were danger, these 
men would know of it. And then the Huguenots’ 
main enemy, Henri le Balafre, the splendid Duke 
of Guise, “our great man,” and “Lorraine,” as 
the crowd called him — he, it was rumored, was 
in disgrace at court. In a word, these things, to 
say nothing of the peaceful and joyous occasion 
which had brought the Huguenots to Paris, and 
which seemed to put treachery out of the question. 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


123 

were more than enough to prevent me forecasting 
the event. 

If for a moment, indeed, as I hurried along 
towards the river, anything like the truth occurred 
to me, I put it from me. I say with pride I put 
it from me as a thing impossible. For God for- 
bid — one may speak out the truth these forty 
years back — God forbid, say I, that all French- 
men should bear the blood-guiltiness which came 
of other than French brains, though French were 
the hands that did the work. 

I was not greatly troubled by my forebodings 
therefore: and the state of exaltation to which 
Madame d’O’s confidence had raised my spirits 
lasted until one of the narrow streets by the 
Louvre brought me suddenly within sight of the 
river. Here faint moonlight bursting moment- 
arily through the clouds was shining on the 
placid surface of the water. The fresh air played 
jpon, and cooled my temples. And this with 
the quiet scene so abruptly presented to me, gave 
check to my thoughts, and somewhat sobered 
me. 

At some distance to my left I could distinguish 
in the middle of the river the pile of buildings 
which crowd the lie de la Cite, and could follow 
the nearer arm of the stream as it swept land- 
wards of these, closely hemmed in by houses, but 
unbroken as yet by the arches of the Pont Neuf 
which I have lived to see built. Not far from me 
on mv right — indeed within a stones throw -the 


124 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


bulky mass of the Louvre rose dark and shapeless 
against the sky. Only a narrow open space — the 
foreshore — separated me from the water ; beyond 
which I could see an irregular line of buildings, 
that no doubt formed the Faubourg St. Germain. 

I had been told that I should find stairs leading 
down to the water, and boats moored at the foot 
of them, at this point. Accordingly I walked 
quickly across the open space to a spot, where I 
made out a couple of posts set up on the brink — 
doubtless to mark the landing-place. 

I had not gone ten paces, however, out of the 
shadow, before I chanced to look round, and dis- 
cerned with an unpleasant eerie feeling three 
figures detach themselves from it, and advance in 
a row behind me, so as the better to cut off my 
retreat. I was not to succeed in my enterprise 
too easily then. That was clear. Still I thought 
it better to act as if I had not seen my followers, 
and collecting myself, I walked as quickly as I 
could down to the steps. The three were by that 
time close upon me — within striking distance 
almost. I turned abruptly and confronted them. 

“Who are you, and what do you want?” I 
said, eyeing them warily, my hand on my sword. 

They did not answer, but separated more 
widely, so as to form a half-circle : and one of 
them whistled. On the instant a knot of men 
started out of the line of houses, and came quickly 
across the strip of light towards us. 

The position seemed serious If I could have 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


I2 5 


run indeed — but I glanced round, and found 
escape in that fashion impossible. There were 
men crouching on the steps behind me, between 
me and the river. I had fallen into a trap. In- 
deed, there was nothing for it now but to do as 
Madame had bidden me, and play the man 
boldly. I had the words still ringing in my ears. 
I had enough of the excitement I had lately felt 
still bounding in my veins to give nerve and 
daring. I folded my arms and drew myself up. 

“ Knaves!" I said, with as much quiet con- 
tempt as I could muster, “you mistake me. 
You do not know whom you have to deal with. 
Get me a boat, and let two of you row me across. 
Hinder me, and your necks shall answer for it — 
or your backs ! ” 

A laugh and an oath of derision formed the 
only response, and before I could add more, the 
larger group arrived, and joined the three. 

“Who is it, Pierre? ” asked one of these in a 
matter-of-fact way, which showed I had not fallen 
amongst mere thieves. 

The speaker seemed to be the leader of the 
band. He had a feather in his bonnet, and I saw 
a steel corselet gleam under his cloak, when some 
one held up a lanthorn to examine me the better. 
His trunk-hose were striped with black, white, 
and green — the livery as I learned afterwards of 
Monsieur the King’s brother, the Duke of Anjou, 
afterwards Henry the Third ; then a close friend 
of the Duke of Guise, and later his murderer. 


126 the house of the wolf 

The captain spoke with a foreign accent, and his 
complexion was dark to swarthiness. His eyes 
sparkled and flashed like black beads. It was 
easy to see that he was an Italian. 

“A gallant young cock enough,” the soldier 
who had whistled answered ; “ and not quite of 
the breed we expected.” He held his lanthorn 
towards me and pointed to the white badge on 
my sleeve. “It strikes me we have caught a 
crow instead of a pigeon ! ” 

“ How comes this ? ” the Italian asked harshly, 
addressing me. “ Who are you? And why do 
you wish to cross the river at this time of night, 
young sir ? ” 

I acted on the inspiration of the moment. 
“Play the man boldly!” Madame had said. I 
would : and I did with a vengeance. I sprang 
forward and seizing the captain by the clasp of 
his cloak, shook him violently, and flung him off 
with all my force, so that he reeled. “ Dog ! ” I 
exclaimed, advancing, as if I would seize him 
again. “Learn how to speak to your betters! 
Am I to be stopped by such sweepings as you ? 
Hark ye, I am on the King’s service ! ” 

He fairly spluttered with rage. “ More like the 
devil’s ! ” he exclaimed, pronouncing his words 
abominably, and fumbling vainly for his weapon. 
“King’s service or no service you do not insult 
Andrea Pallavicini ! ” 

I could only vindicate my daring by greater 
daring, and I saw this even as, death staring me 


A YOUA r G KNIGHT-ERRANT 


127 


in the face, my heart seemed to stop. The man 
had his mouth open and his hand raised to give 
an order which would certainly have sent Anne 
de Caylus from the world, when I cried passion- 
ately— it was my last chance, and I never wished 
to live more strongly than at that moment— I cried 
passionately, “ Andrea Pallavicini, if such be your 
name, look at that ! Look at that ! ” I repeated, 
shaking my open hand with the ring on it before 
his face, “ and then hinder me if you dare ! To- 
morrow if you have quarterings enough, I will see 
to your quarrel ! Now send me on my way, or 
your fate be on your own head ! Disobey — ay, do 
but hesitate — and I will call on these very men of 
yours to cut you down ! ” 

It was a bold throw, for I staked all on a 
talisman of which I did not know the value ! To 
me it was the turn of a die, for I had had no 
leisure to look at the ring, and knew no more 
than a babe whose it was. But the venture was 
as happy as desperate. 

Andrea Pallavicini’s expression — no pleasant 
one at the best of times — changed on the instant. 
His face fell as he seized my hand, and peered at 
the ring long and intently. Then he cast a quick 
glance of suspicion at his men, of hatred at me. 
But I cared nothing for his glance, or his hatred. 

I saw already that he had made up his mind to 
obey the charm : and that for me was everything. 
“ If you had shown that to me a little earlier, 
young sir, it would, maybe, have been better for 


128 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


both of us,” he said, a surly menace in his voice. 
And cursing his men for their stupidity, he ordered 
two of them to unmoor a boat. 

Apparently the craft had been secured with 
more care than skill, for to loosen it seemed to be 
a work of time. Meanwhile I stood waiting in the 
midst of the group, anxious and yet exultant ; an 
object of curiosity, and yet curious myself. I 
heard the guards whisper together, and caught 
such phrases as “It is the Due d’Aumale.” 

“ No, it is not D’Aumale. It is nothing like 
him.” 

“Well, he has the Duke’s ring, fool ! ” 

“The Dukes ? ” 

“Ay. ” 

“Then it is all right, God bless him!” This 
last was uttered with extreme fervor. 

I was conscious too of being the object of many 
respectful glances ; and had just bidden the men 
t>n the steps below me to be quick, when I dis- 
covered with alarm three figures moving across 
the open space towards us, and coming apparent- 
ly from the same point from which Pallavicini and 
his men had emerged. 

In a moment I foresaw danger. “Now be 
quick there ! ” I cried again. But scarcely had I 
spoken before I saw that it was impossible to get 
afloat before these others came up, and I pre- 
pared to stand my ground resolutely. 

The first words, however, with which Pallavi- 
cini saluted the newcomers scattered my fears. 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


I29 


u Well, what the foul fiend do you want ? ” he ex- 
claimed rudely ; and he rapped out half-a-dozen 
corpos before they could answer him. “What 
have you brought him here for, when I left him 
in the guard-house? Imbeciles ! ” 

“Captain Pallavicini,” interposed the midmost 
of the three, speaking with patience — he was a 
man of about thirty, dressed with some richness, 
though his clothes were now disordered as though 
by a struggle — “ I have induced these good men 
to bring me down ” 

“Then,” cried the captain, brutally interrupt- 
ing him, “ you have lost your labor, Monsieur.” 

“You do not know me,” replied the prisoner 
with sternness — a prisoner he seemed to be. 
“ You do not understand that I am a friend of 

the Prince of Conde, and that ” 

He would have said more, but the Italian 
again cut him short. “A fig for the Prince of 
Conde!” he cried ; “I understand my duty. 
You may as well take things easily. You cannot 
cross, and you cannot go home, and you cannot 


have any explanation ; except that it is the 
King’s will ! Explanation ? ” he grumbled, in a 
lower tone, “you will get it soon enough, I war- 
rant ! Before you want it ! ” 

“But there is a boat going to cross,” said the 
other, controlling his temper by an effort and 
speaking with dignity. “You told me that by 
the King’s order no one could cross : and you 
arrested me because, having urgent need to visit 


4 


130 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I 

St. Germain, I persisted. Now what does this 
mean, Captain Pallavicini ? Others are crossing. 
I ask what this means ? ” 

“ Whatever you please, M. de Pavannes,” the 
Italian retorted contemptuously. “Explain it for 
yourself ! ” 

I started as the name struck my ear, and at 
once cried out in surprise, “ M. de Pavannes ! ” 
Had I heard aright ? 

Apparently I had, for the prisoner turned to me 
with a bow. “Yes, sir,” he said with dignity, 
“I am M. de Pavannes. I have not the honor 
of knowing you, but you seem to be a gentle- 
man.” He cast a withering glance at the captain 
as he said this. “Perhaps you will explain to 
me why this violence has been done to me. If 
you can, I shall consider it a favor- if not 
pardon me.” 

I did not answer him at once, for a good 
reason — that every faculty I had was bent on a 
close scrutiny of the man himself. He was fair, 
and of a ruddy complexion. His beard was cut 
in the short pointed fashion of the court ; and in 
these respects he bore a kind of likeness, a curi- 
ous likeness, to Louis de Pavannes. But his 
figure was shorter and stouter. He was less 
martial in bearing, with more of the air of a 
scholar than a soldier. “You are related to M. 
Louis de Pavannes? ” I said, my heart beginning 
to beat with an odd excitement. I think I fore- 
saw already what was coming. 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


“I am Louis de Pavannes,” he replied with 
impatience. 

I stared at him in silence : thinking — think- 
ing — thinking. And then I said slowly, “You 
have a cousin of the same name? ” 

“ I have.” 

“He fell prisoner to the Vicomte de Caylus at 
Moncontour ? ” 

“ He did,” he answered curtly. “But what of 
that, sir ? ” 

Again I did not answer — at once. The murder 
was out. I remembered, in the dim fashion in 
which one remembers such things after the event, 
that I had heard Louis de Pavannes, when we 
first became acquainted with him, mention this 
cousin of the same name ; the head of a younger 
branch. But our Louis living in Provence and 
the other in Normandy, the distance between 
their homes, and the troubles of the times, had 
loosened a tie which their common religion 
might have strengthened. They had scarcely 
ever seen one another. As Louis had spoken 
his namesake but once during his long stay witnj 
us, and I had not then foreseen the connection 
to be formed between our families, it was no 
wonder that in the course of months the chance 
word had passed out of my head, and I had 
clean forgotten the subject of it. 

Here, however, he was before my eyes, and 
seeing him, I saw too what the discovery meant. 
It meant a most joyful thing ! a most wonderful 


132 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


thing which I longed to tell Croisette and Marie. 
It meant that our Louis de Pavannes— my cheek 
burned for my want of faith in him — was no 
villain after all, but such a noble gentleman as 
we had always till this day thought him ! It 
meant that he was no court gallant bent on 
breaking a country heart for sport, but Kit’s own 
true lover ! And — and it meant more — it meant 
that he was yet in danger, and still ignorant of 
the vow that unchained fiend Bezers had taken to 
have his life ! In pursuing his namesake we had 
been led astray, how sadly I only knew now 1 
And had indeed lost most precious time. 

“Your wife, M. de Pavannes” — I began 
in haste, seeing the necessity of explaining 
matters with the utmost quickness. “ Your wife 
is ” 

“Ah, my wife!” he cried interrupting me, 
Yith anxiety in his tone. “What of her ? You 
nave seen her ? ” 

“I have. She is safe at your house in the Rue 
d e St. Merri. ” 

i 

j “Thank Heaven for that ! ” he replied fervently. 
Before he could say more Captain Andrea inter- 
rupted us. I could see that his suspicions were 
aroused afresh. Pie pushed rudely between us, 
and addressing me said, “Now, young sir, your 
boat is ready.” 

“My boat? ” I answered, while I rapidly con- 
sidered the situation. Of course I did not want 
to cross the river now. No doubt Pavannes — 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


133 

this Pavannes — could guide me to Louis’ address. 
“ My boat ? ” 

“Yes, it is waiting,” the Italian replied, his 
black eyes roving from one to the other of us. 

“Then let it wait!” I answered haughtily, 
speaking with an assumption of anger. “Plague 
upon you for interrupting us ! I shall not cross 
the river now. This gentleman can give me the 
information I want. I shall take him back with 
me.” 

“ To whom ? ” 

“To whom ? To those who sent me, sirrah ! ” 
I thundered. “You do not seem to be much 
in the Duke’s confidence, captain,” I went on; 
“ now take a word of advice from me ! There is 
nothing so easily cast off as an over-officious 
servant ! He goes too far — and he goes like an 
old glove! An old glove,” I repeated grimly, 
sneering in his face, “ which saves the hand and 
suffers itself. Beware of too much zeal, Captain 
Pallavicini ! It is a dangerous thing ! ” 

He turned pale with anger at being thus 
treated by a beardless boy. But he faltered all 
the same. What I said was unpleasant, but the 
bravo knew it was true. 

I saw the impression I had made, and I turned 
to the soldiers standing round. 

“ Bring here, my friends,” I said, “M. de Pa- 
vannes’ sword ! ” 

One ran up to the guard-house and brought it 
at once. They were townsfolk, burgher guards 


134 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I 

or such like, and for some reason betrayed so evi- 
dent a respect for me, that I soberly believe they 
would have turned on their temporary leader at: 
my bidding. Pavannes took his sword, and 
placed it under his arm. We both bowed cere- 
moniously to Pallavicini, who scowled in re- 
sponse ; and slowly, for I was afraid to show any 
signs of haste, we walked across the moonlil 
space to the bottom of the street by which I had 
come. There the gloom swallowed us up at 
once. Pavannes touched my sleeve and stopped 
in the darkness. 

“I beg to be allowed to thank you for 
your aid,” he said with emotion, turning and 
facing me. “Whom have I the honor of ad- 
dressing ? ” 

“M. Anne de Caylus, a friend of your cousin/' 
I replied. 

“ Indeed ? ” he said : “ well, I thank you most 
heartily,” and we embraced with warmth. 

‘But I could have done little,” 1 answered 
modestly, “on your behalf, if it had not been for 
this ring.” 

“And the virtue of the ring lies in ” 

“ In — I am sure I cannot say in what ! ” I con- 
fessed. And then, in the sympathy which the 
scene had naturally created between us, I forgot 
one portion of my lady’s commands, and I added 
impulsively, “All I know is that Madame d’O 
gave it me ; and that it has done all, and more 
than all she said it would.” 


A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT 


135 

“Who gave it to you ? ” he asked, grasping my 
arm so tightly as to hurt me. 

“Madame d’O, I repeated. It was too late to 
draw back now. 

“That woman!” he ejaculated in a strange 
low whisper. “Is it possible? That woman 
gave it you ? ” 

I wondered what on earth he meant, surprise, 
scorn and dislike were so blended in his tone. It 
even seemed to me that he drew off from me 
somewhat. “Yes, M. de Pavannes,” I replied, 
offended and indignant. “It is so far possible 
that it is the truth ; and more, I think you would 
not so speak of this lady if you knew all ; and 
that it was through her your wife was to-day 
freed from those who were detaining her, and 
taken safely home ! ” 

“Ha!” he cried eagerly. “Then where has 
my wife been ? ” 

“At the house of Mirepoix, the glover,” I an- 
swered coldly, “in the Rue Platriere. Do you 
know him ? You do. Well, she was kept there 
a prisoner, until we helped her to escape an hour 
or so ago.” 

He did not seem to comprehend even then. I 
could see little of his face, but there was doubt 
and wonder in his tone when he spoke. “ Mire- 
poix the glover,” he murmured. “He is an 
honest man enough, though a Catholic. She 
was kept there ! Who kept her there ? ” 

“The Abbess of the Ursulines seems to have 


1 36 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


been at the bottom of it,” I explained, fretting 
with impatience. This wonder was misplaced, I 
thought ; and time was passing. “ Madame d’O 
found out where she was,” I continued, “and 
took her home, and then sent me to fetch you, 
hearing you had crossed the river. That is the 
story in brief.” 

“That woman sent you to fetch me? ” he re- 
peated again. 

“Yes,” I answered angrily. “ She did, M. de 
Pavannes. ” 

“Then,” he said slowly, and with an air of 
solemn conviction which could not but impress 
me, “there is a trap laid for me! She is the 
worst, the most wicked, the vilest of women ! If 
she sent you, this is a trap ! And my wife has 
fallen into it already 1 Heaven help her — and me 
— if it be so 1 " 


TJf£ PARISIAN MATINS 


*37 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE PARISIAN MATINS. 

There are some statements for which it is im- 
possible to be prepared ; statements so strong and 
so startling that it is impossible to answer them 
except by action — by a blow. And this of M. de 
Pavannes was one of these. If there had been 
any one present, I think I should have given him 
the lie and drawn upon him. But alone with him 
at midnight in the shadow near the bottom of the 
Rue des Fosses, with no witnesses, with every 
reason to feel friendly towards him, what was I 
to do? 

As a fact, I did nothing. I stood, silent and 
stupefied, waiting to hear more. He did not keep 
me long. 

“She is my wife’s sister,” he continued grimly. 
“But I have no reason to shield her on that ac- 
count ! Shield her? Had you lived at court 
only a month I might shield her all I could, M. 
de C^ylus, it would avail nothing. Not Madame 
de Sauves is better known. And I, would not if I 
could ! I know well, though my wife will not 
believe it, that there is nothing so near Madame 


138 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

d'O’s heart as to get rid of her sister and me — 
of both of us — that she may succeed to Made- 
leine’s inheritance ! Oh, yes, I had good grounds 
for being nervous yesterday, when my wife did 
not return/’ he added excitedly. 

“ But there at least you wrong Madame d’O ! ” 
I cried, shocked and horrified by an accusation, 
which seemed so much more dreadful in the 
silence and gloom — and withal so much less pre- 
posterous than it might have seemed in the day- 
light. “There you certainly wrong her! For 
shame ! M. de Pavannes.” 

He came a step nearer, and laying a hand on 
my sleeve peered into my face. “Did you see 
a priest with her? ” he asked slowly. “ A man 
called the Coadjutor — a down-looking dog ? ” 

I said — with a shiver of dread, a sudden 
revulsion of feeling, born of his manner — that I 
had. And I explained the part the priest had 
taken. 

“Then,” Pavannes rejoined, “I am right. 
There is a trap laid for me. The Abbess of the 
Ursulines ! She abduct my wife ? Why, she is 
her dearest friend, believe me. It is impossible. 
She would be more likely to save her from danger 
than to — umph ! wait a minute.” I did : I waited, 
dreading what he might discover, until he mut- 
tered, checking himself — “Can that be it? Can 
\ be that the Abbess did know of some danger 
reatening us, and would have put Madeleine in 
afe retreat ? I wonder 1 ” 


THE PARISIAN MATINS. 


139 


And I wondered ; and then — well, thoughts are 
like gunpowder. The least spark will fire a train. 
His words were few, but they formed spark 
enough to raise such a flare in my brain as for a 
morjient blinded me, and shook me so that I 
trembled. The shock over, I was left face to face 
with a possibility of wickedness such as I could 
never have suspected of myself. I remembered 
Mirepoix’s distress and the priest’s eagerness. I 
recalled the gruff warning Bezers — even Bezers, 
and there was something very odd in Bezers 
giving a warning ! — had given Madame de Pa- 
vannes when he told her that she would be better 
where she was. I thought of the wakefulness 
which I had marked in the streets, the silent 
hurrying to and fro, the signs of coming strife, 
and contrasted these with the quietude and seem- 
ing safety of Mirepoix’s house ; and I hastily asked 
Pavannes at what time he had been arrested. 

“ About an hour before midnight,” he answered. 

‘‘Then you know nothing of what is hap- 
pening?” I replied quickly. “Why, even while 
we are loitering here — but listen ! ” 

And with all speed, stammering indeed in my 
haste and anxiety, I told him what I had noticed 
in the streets, and the hints I had heard, and I 
showed him the badges with which Madame had 
furnished me. 

His manner when he had heard me out fright- 
ened me still more. He drew me on in a kind of 
fury to a house in the windows of which some 


140 


7 HE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


lighted candles had appeared not a minute before. 
“The ring ! ” he cried, “let me see the ring 1 
Whose is it ? ” 

He held up my hand to this chance light and 
we looked at the ring. It was a heavy gold 
signet, with one curious characteristic : it had two 
facets. On one of these was engraved the letter 
“H,” and above it a crown. On the other was 
an eagle with outstretched wings. 

Pavannes let my hand drop and leaned against 
the wall in sudden despair. “It is the Duke 
of Guise’s,” he muttered. “It is the eagle of 
Lorraine.” 

“ Ha ! ” said I softly, seeing light. The Duke 
was the idol then, as later, of the Parisian populace, 
and I understood now why the citizen soldiers 
had shown me such respect. They had taken me 
for the Duke’s envoy and confidant. 

But I saw no farther. Pavannes did, and mur- 
mured bitterly, “We may say our prayers, we 
Huguenots. That is our death-warrant. To- 
morrow night there will not be one left in Paris, 
lad. Guise has his father’s death to avenge, and 
these cursed Parisians will do his bidding like the 
wolves they are ! The Baron de Rosny warned us 
of this, word for word. I would to Heaven we 
had taken his advice ! ” 

“ Stay ! ” I cried — he was going too fast for me 
— “stay!” His monstrous conception, though 
it marched some way with my own suspicions, 
outran them far ! I saw no sufficient grounds for 


THE PARISIAN MA TINS 


*4t 

it “The King — the King would not permit such 
a thing, M. de Pavannes,” I argued. 

“ Boy, you are blind ! ” he rejoined impatiently, 
for now he saw all and I nothing. “Yonder was 
the Duke of Anjou’s captain — Monsieur's officer, 
the follower of France’s brother, mark you ! And 
he — he obeyed the Duke’s ring ! The Duke has 
a free hand to-night, and he hates us. And the 
river. Why are we not to cross the river ? The 
King indeed ! The King has undone us. He 
has sold us to his brother and the Guises. Va 
chasser l Idole ” — for the second time I heard the 
quaint phrase, which I learned afterwards was an 
anagram of the King’s name, Charles de Valois, 
used by the Protestants as a password — “ Va 
chasser I Idole has betrayed us ! I remember the 
very words he used to the Admiral, ‘ Now we have 
got you here we shall not let you go so easily ! ’ 
Oh, the traitor ! The wretched traitor ! ” 

He leaned against the wall, overcome by the 
horror of the conviction which had burst upon 
him, and unnerved by the imminence of the peril. 
At all times he was an unready man, I fancy, 
more fit, courage apart, for the college than the 
field ; and now he gave way to despair. Perhaps 
the thought of his wife unmanned him. Perhaps 
the excitement through which he had already gone 
tended to stupefy him, or the suddenness of the 
discovery. 

At any rate, I was the first to gather my wits 
together, and my earliest impulse was to tear into 


142 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


two parts a white handkerchief I had in my pouch, 
and fasten one to his sleeve, the other in his hat, 
in rough imitation of the badges I wore myself. 

It will appear from this that I no longer trusted 
Madame d'O. I was not convinced, it is true, 
of her conscious guilt, still I did not trust her 
entirely. “ Do not wear them on your return, ” 
she had said and that was odd ; although I could 
not yet believe that she was such a siren as Father 
Pierre had warned us of, telling tales from old 
poets. Yet I doubted, shuddering as I did so. 
Her companionship with that vile priest, the 
strange eagerness to secure Pavannes’ return, her 
mysterious directions to me, her anxiety to take 
her sister home — home, where she would be ex- 
posed to danger, as being in a known Huguenot’s 
house — these things pointed to but one conclu- 
sion ; still that one was so horrible that I would 
not, even while I doubted and distrusted her, I 
would not, I could not accept it. I put it from 
me, and refused to believe it, although during the 
rest of that night it kept coming back to me and 
knocking for admission at my brain. 

All this flashed through my mind while I was 
fixing on Pavannes’ badges. Not that I lost time 
about it, for from the moment I grasped the posi- 
tion as he conceived it, every minute we had 
wasted on explanations seemed to me an hour. 
I reproached myself for having forgotten even for 
an instant that which had brought us to town — 
the rescue of Kit’s lover. We had small chance 


THE PARISIAN MATINS 


143 


now of reaching him in time, misled as we had 
been by this miserable mistake in identity. If 
my companion’s fears were well founded, Louis 
would fall in the general massacre of the Hugue- 
nots, probably before we could reach him. If ill- 
founded, still we had small reason to hope. 
Bezers’ vengeance would not wait. I knew him 
too well to think it. A Guise might spare his foe, 
but the Vidame — the Vidame never ! He had 
warned Madame de Pavannes, it was true ; but 
that abnormal exercise of benevolence could 
only, I cynically thought, have the more exasper- 
ated the devil within him, which now would be 
ravening like a dog disappointed of its victuals. 

I glanced up at the line of sky visible between 
the tall houses, and lo ! the dawn was coming. 
It wanted scarcely half an hour of daylight, 
though down in the dark streets about us the night 
still reigned. Yes, the morning was coming, 
bright and hopeful, and the city was quiet. 
There were no signs, no sounds of riot or disor- 
der. Surely, I thought, surely Pavannes must be 
mistaken. Either the plot had never existed, that 
was most likely, or it had been abandoned, or 
perhaps — Crack ! 

A pistol shot ! Short, sharp, ominous it rang 
out on the instant, a solitary sound in the night ! 
It was somewhere near us, and I stopped. I had 
been speaking to my companion at the moment 
t( Where was it? ” I cried, looking behind me. 

‘‘Close to us. Near the Louvre,” he answered. 


144 


( 

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

listening intently. “See! See! Ah, heavens ! ’ 
he continued in a voice of despair, “it was a 
signal ! ” 

It was. One, two, three ! Before I could 
count so far, lights sprang into brightness in the 
windows of nine out of ten houses in the short 
street where we stood, as if lighted by a single 
hand. Before too I could count as many more, 
or ask him what this meant, before indeed, we 
could speak or stir from the spot, or think what 
we should do, with a hurried clang and clash, as 
if brought into motion by furious frenzied hands, 
a great bell just above our heads began to boom 
and whirr ! It hurled its notes into space, it sud- 
denly filled all the silence. It dashed its harsh 
sounds down upon the trembling city, till the air 
heaved, and the houses about us rocked. It 
made in an instant a pandemonium of the quiet 
night. 

We turned and hurried instinctively from the 
place, crouching and amazed, looking upwards 
with bent shoulders and scared faces. “ What is 
it ? . What is it ? ” I cried, half in resentment, half 
in terror. It deafened me. 

“The bell of St. Germain l’Auxerrois ! ” he 
shouted in answer. “ The Church of the Louvre. 
It is as I said. We are doomed ! ” 

“Doomed? No!” I replied fiercely, for my 
courage seemed to rise again on the wave of 
sound and excitement as if rebounding from the 
momentary shock. “Never ! We wear the 


THE PARISIAN MA TINS 


145 


devil s livery, and he will look after his own. 
Draw, man, and let him that stops us look to 
himself. You know the way. Lead on ! ” I cried 
savagely. 

He caught the infection and drew his sword. 
So we started boldly, and the result justified my 
confidence. We looked, no doubt, as like mur- 
derers as any who were abroad that night. Mov- 
ing in this desperate guise we hastened up that 
street and into another — still pursued by the din 
and clangor of the bell — and then a short dis- 
tance along a third. We were not stopped or 
addressed by any one, though numbers, increas- 
ing each moment as door after door opened, and 
we drew nearer to the heart of the commotion, 
were hurrying in the same direction, side by side 
with us ; and though in front, where now and 
again lights gleamed on a mass of weapons, or 
on white eager faces, filling some alley from wall 
to wall, we heard the roar of voices rising and 
falling like the murmur of an angry sea. 

All was blurr, hurry, confusion, tumult. Yet I 
remember, as we pressed onwards with the 
stream and part of it, certain sharp outlines. I 
caught here and there a glimpse of a pale scared 
face at a window, a half-clad form at a door, of 
the big, wondering eyes of a child held up to see 
us pass, of a Christ at a corner ruddy in the 
smoky glare of a link, of a woman armed, and in 
man’s clothes, who walked some distance side by 
side with us, and led off a ribald song. I retain 
io 


146 the house of the ivolf 

a memory of these things : of brief bursts of light 
and long intervals of darkness, and always, as we 
tramped forwards, my hand on Pavannes’ sleeve, 
of an ever-growing tumult in front — an ever- 
rising flood of noise. 

At last we came to a standstill where a side 
street ran out of ours. Into this the hurrying 
throng tried to wheel, and, unable to do so, halted, 
and pressed about the head of the street, which 
was already full to overflowing ; and so fought 
with hungry eyes for places whence they might 
look down it. Pavannes and I struggled only to 
get through the crowd — to get on ; but the efforts 
of those behind partly aiding and partly thwarting 
our own, presently forced us to a position whence 
we could not avoid seeing what was afoot. 

The street — this side street — was ablaze with 
light. From end to end every gable, every hatch- 
ment was glowing, every window was flickering 
in the glare of torches. It was paved too with 
faces — human faces, yet scarcely human — all 
looking one way, all looking upward ; and the 
noise, as from time to time this immense crowd 
groaned or howled in unison, like a wild beast in 
its fury, was so appalling, that I clutched Pavan- 
nes’ arm and clung to him in momentary terror. 
I do not wonder now that I quailed, though some- 
times I have heard that sound since. For there is 
nothing in the world so dreadful as that brute 
beast we call the canaille , when the chain is off 
and its cowardly soul is roused. 


THE PARISIAN MATINS 


147 


Near our end of the street a group of horsemen, 
rising island-like from the sea of heads, sat motion- 
less in their saddles about a gateway. They 
were silent, taking no notice of the rioting fiends 
shouting at their girths, but watching in grim 
quiet what was passing within the gates. They 
were handsomely dressed, although some wore 
corselets over their satin coats or lace above buff 
jerkins. I could even at that distance see the 
jewels gleam in the bonnet of one who seemed to 
be their leader. He was in the centre of the band, 
a very young man, perhaps twenty or twenty- 
one, of most splendid presence, sitting his horse 
superbly. He wore a gray riding-coat, and was 
a head taller than any of his companions. There 
was pride in the very air with which his horse 
bore him. 

I did not need to ask Pavannes who he was. I 
knew that he was the Duke of Guise, and that the 
house before which he stood was Coligny’s. I 
knew what was being done there. And in the 
same moment I sickened with horror and rage. I 
had a vision of gray hairs and blood and fury 
scarcely human. And I rebelled. I battled with 
the rabble about me. I forced my way through 
them tooth and nail after Pavannes, intent only on 
escaping, only on getting away from there. And 
so we neither halted nor looked back until we 
were clear of the crowd and had left the blaze of 
light and the work doing by it some way behind 
us. 


1 4.8 THE house of the wolf 

We found ourselves then in the mouth of an 
obscure alley which my companion whispered 
would bring- us to his house ; and here we paused 
to take breath and look back. The sky was red 
behind us, the air full of the clash and din of the 
tocsin, and the flood of sounds which poured from 
every tower and steeple. From the eastward 
came the rattle of drums and random shots, and 
shrieks of “A has Coligny !” 11 A bas les Hugue- 

nots!” Meanwhile the city was rising as one 
man, pale at this dread awakening. From every 
window men and women, frightened by the up- 
roar, were craning their necks, asking or answer- 
ing questions or hurriedly calling for and kin- 
dling tapers. But as yet the general populace 
seemed to be taking no active part in the disorder. 

Pavannes raised his hat an instant as we stood 
in the shadow of the houses. “ The noblest man 
in France is dead,” he said, softly and reverently. 
“God rest his soul! They have had their way 
w r ith him and killed him like a dog. He was an 
old man, and they did not spare him ! A noble, 
and they have called in the canaille to tear him. 
But be sure, my friend ” — and as the speakers tone 
changed and grew full and proud, his form seemed 
to swell with it — “ be sure the cruel shall not live 
out half their days ! No. He that takes the knife 
shall perish by the knife ! And go to his own 
place ! I shall not see it, but you will ! ” 

His words made no great impression on me 
then. My hardihood was returning. I was 


THE PARISIAN MATINS 


149 


throbbing with fierce excitement, and tingling for 
the fight. But years afterwards, when the two 
who stood highest in the group about Coligny’s 
threshold died, the one at thirty-eight, the other 
at thirty-five — when Henry of Guise and Henry 
of Valois died within six months of one another 
by the assassin’s knife — I remembered Pavannes’ 
augury. And remembering it, I read the ways of 
Providence, and saw that the very audacity of 
which Guise took advantage to entrap Coligny led 
him too in his turn to trip smiling and bowing, a 
comfit box in his hand and the kisses of his mis- 
tress damp on his lips, into a king’s closet — a 
king’s closet at Blois ! Led him to lift the curtain 
• — ah ! to lift the curtain, what Frenchman does 
not know the tale ? — behind which stood the 
Admiral ! 

To return to our own fortunes ; after a hurried 
glance we resumed our way, and sped through 
the alley, holding a brief consultation as we 
went. Pavannes’ first hasty instinct to seek 
shelter at home began to lose its force, and he to 
consider whether his return would not endanger 
his wife. The mob might be expected to spare 
her, he argued. Her death would not benefit any 
private foes if he escaped. He was for keeping 
away therefore. But I would not agree to this. 
The priest’s crew of desperadoes — assuming 
Pavannes’ suspicions to be correct — would wait 
some time, no doubt, to give the master of the 
Vouse a chance to return, but would certainly 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


15 ° 

attack sooner or later out of greed, if from no 
other motive. Then the lady’s fate would at the 
best be uncertain. I was anxious myself to re- 
join my brothers, and take all future chances, 
whether of saving our Louis, or escaping our- 
selves, with them. United we should be four 
good swords, and might at least protect Madame 
de Pavannes to a place of safety, if no oppor- 
tunity of succoring Louis should present itself. 
We had too the Duke’s ring, and this might be of 
service at a pinch. “No,” I urged, “let us get 
together. We two will slip in at the front gate, 
and bolt and bar it, and then we will all escape 
in a body at the back, while they are forcing the 
gateway.” 

“There is no door at the back,” he answered, 
shaking his head. 

“There are windows ? ” 

“They are too strongly barred. We could not 
break out in the time,” he explained, with a 
groan. 

I paused at that, crestfallen. But danger 
quickened my wits. In a moment I had another 
plan, not so hopeful and more dangerous, yet 
worth trying, I thought. I told him of it, and he 
agreed to it. As he -nodded assent we emerged 
into a street, and I saw — for the gray light of 
morning was beginning to penetrate between the 
houses — that we were only a few yards from the 
gateway, and the small door by which I had seen 
my brothers enter. Were they still in the house? 


THE PARISIAN MA TINS 1 5 1 

Were they safe? I had been away an hour at 
least. 

Anxious as I was about them, I looked round 
me very keenly as we flitted across the road, and 
knocked gently at the door. I thought it so likely 
that we should be fallen upon here, that I stood 
on my guard while we waited. But we were not 
molested. The street, being at some distance 
from the centre of the commotion, was still and 
empty, with no signs of life apparent except the 
rows of heads poked through the windows — all 
possessing eyes which watched us heedfully and 
in perfect silence. Yes, the street was quite 
empty : except, ah ! except, for that lurking 
figure, which, even as I espied it, shot round a 
distant angle of the wall, and was lost to sight. 

“ There !” I cried, reckless now who might 
hear me, “ knock ! knock louder ! never mind the 
noise. The alarm is given. A score of people 
are watching us, and yonder spy has gone off to 
summon his friends.” 

The truth was my anger was rising. I could 
bear no longer the silent regards of all those eyes 
at the windows. I writhed under them — cruel, 
pitiless eyes they were. I read in them a morbid 
curiosity, a patient anticipation that drove me 
wild. Those men and women gazing on us so 
stonily knew my companion's rank and faith. 
They had watched him riding in and out daily, 
one of the sights of their street, gay and gallant ; 
and now with the same eyes they were watching 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


152 

greedily for the butchers to come. The very 
children took a fresh interest in him, as one 
doomed and dying ; and waited panting for the 
show to begin. So I read them. 

“Knock!” I repeated angrily, losing all pa- 
tience. Had I been foolish in bringing him back 
to this part of the town where every soul knew 
him ? “ Knock ; we must get in, whether or no. 

They cannot all have left the house ! ” 

I kicked the door desperately, and my relief' 
was great when it opened. A servant with a 
pale face stood before me, his knees visibly 
shaking. And behind him was Croisette. 

I think we fell straightway into one another’s 
arms. 

“And Marie,” I cried, “Marie ? ” 

“Marie is within, and madame,” he answered 
joyfully; “we are together again and nothing 
matters. But oh, Anne, where have you been? 
And what is the matter ? Is it a great fire ? Or 
is the king dead ? Or what is it ? ” 

I told him. I hastily poured out some of the 
things which had happened to me, and some 
which I feared were in store for others. Naturally 
he was surprised and shocked by the latter, 
though his fears had already been aroused. But 
his joy and relief, when he heard the mystery of 
Louis de Pavannes’ marriage explained, were so 
great that they swallowed up all other feelings. 
He could not say enough about it. He pictured 
Louis again and again as Kit’s lover, as our old 


THE PARISIAN MA TINS 


*53 


friend, our companion ; as true, staunch, brave 
without fear, without reproach : and it was long 
> before his eyes ceased to sparkle, his tongue to 
run merrily, the color to mantle in his cheeks — 
long that is as time is counted by minutes. But 
presently the remembrance of Louis’ danger and 
our own position returned more vividly. Our 
plan for rescuing him had failed — failed ! 

“No ! no ! ” cried Croisette, stoutly. He would 
not hear of it. He would not have it at any price. 
“ No, we will not give up hope S We will go 
shoulder to shoulder and find him. Louis is as 
brave as a lion and as quick as a weasel. We 
will find him in time yet. We will go when — I 
mean as soon as ” 

He faltered, and paused. His sudden silence 
as he looked round the empty forecourt in which 
we stood was eloquent. The cold light, faint and 
uncertain yet, was stealing into the court, dis- 
closing a row of stables on either side, and a tiny 
porters hutch by the gates, and fronting us a 
noble house of four storys, tall, gray, grim-look- 
ing. 

I assented ; gloomily however. “ Yes/’ I said, 
“ we will go when ” 

And I too stopped. The same thought was in 
my mind. How could we leave these people ? 
How could we leave madame in her danger and 
distress? How could we return her kindness by 
desertion ? We could not. No, not for Kit’s sake. 
Because after all Louis, our Louis, was a man. 


JS4 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


and must take his chance. He must take his 
chance. But I groaned. 

So that was settled. I had already explained 
our plan to Croisette : and now as we waited he 
began to tell me a story, a long, confused story 
about Madame d’O. I thought he was talking for 
the sake of talking — to keep up our spirits — and I 
did not attend much to him ; so that he had not 
reached the gist of it, or at least I had not grasped 
it, when a noise without stayed his tongue. It 
was the tramp of footsteps, apparently of a large 
party in the street. It forced him to break off, 
and promptly drove us all to our posts. 

But before we separated a slight figure, hardly 
noticeable in that dim, uncertain light, passed me 
quickly, laying for an instant a soft hand in mine 
as I stood waiting by the gates. I have said I 
scarcely saw the figure, though I did see the kind 
timid eyes, and the pale cheeks under the hood ; 
but I bent over the hand and kissed it, and felt, 
truth to tell, no more regret nor doubt where our 
duty lay. But stood, waiting patiently. 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 


*55 


CHAPTER IX, 

THE HEAD OF ERASMUS. 

Waiting, and waiting alone ! The gates were 
almost down now. The gang of ruffians without, 
reinforced each moment by volunteers eager for 
plunder, rained blows unceasingly on hinge and 
socket ; and still hotter and faster through a dozen 
rifts in the timbers came the fire of their threats 
and curses. Many grew tired, but others re- 
placed them. Tools broke, but they brought 
more and worked with savage energy. They had 
shown at first a measure of prudence ; looking to 
be fired on, and to be resisted by men, surprised, 
indeed, but desperate ; and the bolder of them 
only had advanced. But now they pressed round 
unchecked, meeting no resistance. They would 
scarcely stand back to let the sledges have swing; 
but hallooed and ran in on the creaking beams 
and beat them with their fists whenever the gates 
swayed under a blow. 

One stout iron bar still held its place. And 
this I watched as if fascinated. I was alone in 
the empty courtyard, standing a little aside, 
sheltered by one of the stone pillars from which 


156 THE house of the wolf 

the gates hung. Behind me the door of the 
house stood ajar. Candles, which the daylight 
rendered garish, still burned in the rooms on the 
first floor, of which the tall narrow windows 
were open. On the wide stone sill of one of 
these stood Croisette, a boyish figure, looking 
silently down at me, his hand on the latticed 
shutter. He looked pale, and I nodded and 
smiled at him. I felt rather anger than fear my- 
self ; remembering, as the fiendish cries half-deaf- 
ened me, old tales of the Jacquerie and its do- 
ings, and how we had trodden it out. 

Suddenly the din and tumult flashed to a louder 
note ; as when hounds on the scent give tongue 
at sight. I turned quickly from the house, re- 
called to a sense of the position and peril. The 
iron bar was yielding to the pressure. Slowly 
the left wing of the gate was sinking inwards. 
Through the widening chasm I caught a glimpse 
of wild, grimy faces and bloodshot eyes, and 
heard above the noise a sharp cry from Croisette 
— a cry of terror. Then I turned and ran, with a 
defiant gesture and an answering yell, . right 
across the forecourt and up the steps to the door. 

I ran the faster for the sharp report of a pistol 
behind me, and the whirr of a ball past my ear. 
But I was not scared by it : and as my feet 
alighted with a bound on the topmost step, I 
glanced back. The dogs were halfway across 
the court. I made a bungling attempt to shut 
and lock the great door — failed in this ; and heard 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 


*57 


behind me a roar of coarse triumph. I waited 
for no more. I darted up the oak staircase, four 
steps at a time, and rushed into the great draw- 
ing-room on my left, banging the door behind me. 

The once splendid room was in a state of 
strange disorder. Some of the rich tapestry had 
been hastily tom down. One window was 
closed and shuttered ; no doubt Croisette had 
done it. The other two were open — as if there 
had not been time to close them — and the cold 
light which they admitted contrasted in ghastly 
fashion with the yellow rays of candles still burn- 
ing in the sconces. The furniture had been 
huddled aside or piled into a barricade, a clievaux 
de /rise of chairs and tables stretching across the 
width of the room, its intertisces stuffed with, 
and its weakness partly screened by, the torn- 
down hangings. Behind this frail defence their 
backs to a door which seemed to lead to an inner 
room, stood Marie and Croisette, pale and de- 
fiant. The former had a long pike ; the latter 
levelled a heavy, bell-mouthed arquebuse across 
the back of a chair, and blew up his match as I 
entered. Both had in addition procured swords. 

I darted like a rabbit through a little tunnel left 
on purpose for me in the rampart, and took my 
stand by them. 

“ Is all right? ” ejaculated Croisette, turning K> 
me nervously. 

“All right, I think,” I answered. I was 
breathless. 


158 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

“You are not hurt ? ” 

“Not touched ! ” 

I had just time then to draw my sword before 
the assailants streamed into the room, a dozen 
mffians, reeking- and tattered, with flushed faces 
and greedy, staring eyes. Once inside, however, 
suddenly — so suddenly that an idle spectator 
might have found the change ludicrous — they 
came to a stop. Their wild cries ceased, and 
tumbling over one another with curses and oaths 
they halted, surveying us in muddled surprise ; 
seeing what was before them, and not liking it. 
Their leader appeared to be a tall butcher with 
a pole-axe on his half-naked shoulder ; but there 
were among them two or three soldiers in the 
royal livery and carrying pikes. They had looked 
for victims only, having met with no resistance at 
the gate, and the foremost recoiled now on find- 
ing themselves confronted by the muzzle of the 
arquebuse and the lighted match. 

I seized the occasion. I knew indeed, that the 
pause presented our only chance, and I sprang 
on a chair and waved my hand for silence. The 
instinct of obedience for the moment asserted it- 
self ; there was a stillness in the room. 

“ Beware ! ” I cried loudly — as loudly and con- 
fidently as 1 could, considering that there was a 
quaver at my heart as I looked on those savage 
faces, which met and yet avoided my eye. 
“ Beware of what you do ! We are Catholics one 
and all like yourselves, and good sons of the 


THE HEAD OF ER A SMUS 


*59 


Church. Ay, and good subjects too ! Vive le 
rot, gentlemen ! God save the King ! I say. ” 
And I struck the barricade with my sword until 
the metal rang again. “ God save the King ! ” 

“ Cry Vive la Messe !” shouted one. 

“Certainly, gentlemen ! " I replied, with polite- 
ness. “With all my heart. Vive la Messe 1 
Vive la Messe ! ” 

This took the butcher, who luckily was still 
sober, utterly aback. He had never thought of 
this. He stared at us as if the ox he had been 
about to fell had opened its mouth and spoken, 
and grievously at a loss, he looked for help to his 
companions. 

Later in the day, some Catholics were killed by 
the mob. But their deaths as far as could be 
learned afterwards were due to private feuds. 
Save in such cases — and they were few — the cry 
of Vive la Messe ! always obtained at least a re- 
spite : more easily of course in the earlier hours 
of the morning when the mob were scarce at ease 
in their liberty to kill, while killing still seemed 
murder, and men were not yet drunk with blood- 
shed. 

I read the hesitation of the gang in their faces : 
and when one asked roughly who we were, I re- 
plied with greater boldness, “ I am M. Anne de 
Caylus, nephew to the Vicomte de Caylus, Gov- 
ernor, under the King, of Bayonne and the 
Landes ! ” This I said with what majesty I 
could. “And these’" — I continued — “are my 


160 the house of the wolf 

orothers. You will harm us at your peril, gentle, 
men. The Vicomte, believe me, will avenge, 
every hair of our heads.” 

I can shut my eyes now and see the stupid 
wonder, the baulked ferocity of those gaping 
faces. Dull and savage as the men were they 
were impressed ; they saw reason indeed, and all 
seemed going well for us when some one in the 
rear shouted, “Cursed whelps! Throw them 
over ! ” 

I looked swiftly in the direction whence the 
voice came — the darkest corner of the room — the 
corner by the shuttered window. I thought I 
made out a slender figure, cloaked and masked — 
a woman’s it might be, but I could not be certain 
— and beside it a couple of sturdy fellows, who 
kept apart from the herd and well behind their 
fugleman. 

The speaker’s courage arose no doubt from his 
position at the back of the room, for the foremost 
of the assailants seemed less determined. We 
were only three, and we must have gone down, 
barricade and all, before a rush. But three are 
three. And an arquebuse — Croisette’s match 
burned splendidly — well loaded with slugs is an 
ugly weapon at five paces, and makes nasty 
wounds, besides scattering its charge famously. 
This, a good many of them, and the leaders in 
particular, seemed to recognize. We might cer- 
tainly take two or three lives : and life is valuable 
to its owner when plunder is afoot. Besides 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 

most of them had common sense enough to re- 
member that there were scores of Huguenots — 
genuine heretics — to be robbed for the killing, so 
why go out of the way, they reasoned, to cut a 
Catholic throat, and perhaps get into trouble. 
Why risk Montfaucon for a whim ? and offend a 
man of influence like the Vicomte de Caylus, for 
nothing ! 

Unfortunately at this crisis their original design 
was recalled to their minds by the same voice 
behind, crying out, “Pavannes! Where is Pa- 
vannes ? ” 

“ Ay ! ” shouted the butcher, grasping the idea, 
and at the same time spitting on his hands and 
taking a fresh grip of the axe. “Show us the her- 
etic dog, and go 1 Let us at him. ” 

“ M. de Pavannes/' I said coolly — but I could 
not take my eyes off the shining blade of that 
mans axe, it was so very broad and sharp — “is 
not here ! ” 

“That is a lie! He is in that room behind 
you ! ” the prudent gentleman in the background 
called out. “ Give him up ! ” 

“Ay, give him up!" echoed the man of the 
pole-axe almost good-humoredly, “or it will be 
the worse for you. Let us have at him and get 
you gone ! ” 

This with an air of much reason, while a growl 
as of a chained beast ran through the crowd, 
mingled with cries of “ A mort les Huguenots / 
Vive Lorraine !” — cries which seemed to show 


ii 


162 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


that all did not approve of the indulgence offered 
us. 

“Beware, gentlemen, beware,” I urged, “I 
swear he is not here ! I swear it, do you hear ? ” 

A howl of impatience and then a sudden move- 
ment of the crowd as though the rush were com- 
ing warned me to temporize no longer. “ Stay ! 
Stay!” I added hastily. “One minute! Hear 
me ! You are too many for us. Will you swear 
to let us go safe and untouched, if we give you 
passage ? ” 

A dozen voices shrieked assent. But I looked 
at the butcher only. He seemed to be an honest 
man, out of his profession. 

“Ay, I swear it ! ” he cried with a nod. 

“By the Mass ? ” 

“ By the Mass.” 

I twitched Croisette’s sleeve, and he tore the 
fuse from his weapon, and flung the gun — too 
heavy to be of use to us longer — to the ground. 
It was done in a moment. While the mob swept 
over the barricade, and smashed the rich furniture 
of it in wanton malice, we filed aside, and nimbly 
slipped under it one by one. Then we hurried in 
single file to the end of the room, no one taking 
much notice of us. All were pressing on, intent 
on their prey. We gained the door as the butcher 
struck his first blow on that which we had 
guarded — on that which we had given up. We 
sprang down the stairs with bounding hearts, 
heard as we reached the outer door the roar of 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 163 

many voices, but stayed not to look behind — 
paused indeed for nothing. Fear, to speak can- 
didly, lent us wings. In three seconds we had 
leapt the prostrate gates, and were in the street. 
A cripple, two or three dogs, a knot of women 
looking timidly yet curiously in, a horse tethered 
to the staple — we saw nothing else. No one 
stayed us. No one raised a hand, and in another 
minute we had turned a corner, and were out of 
sight of the house. 

“They will take a gentleman’s word another 
time,” I said with a quiet smile as I put up my 
sword. 

“I would like to see her face at this moment,” 
Croisette replied. “You saw Madame d’O ?” 

I shook my head, not answering. I was not 
sure, and I had a queer, sickening dread of the 
subject. If I had seen her, I had seen — oh ! it 
was too horrible, too unnatural ! Her own sister ! 
Her own brother in-law ! 

I hastened to change the subject. “The 
Pavannes,” I made shift to say, “must have had 
five minutes’ start.” 

“ More,” Croisette answered, “ if Madame and 
he got away at once. If all has gone well with 
them, and they have not been stopped in the 
streets, they should be at Mirepoix’s by now. 
They seemed to be pretty sure that he would take 
them in.” 

“Ah!” I sighed. “What fools we were to 
bring Madame from that place! If we had not 


164 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

meddled with her affairs we might have reached 
Louis long ago — our Louis, I mean/' 

“True,” Croisette answered softly; “but 
remember that then we should not have saved 
the other Louis — as I trust we have. He would 
still be in Pallavicini’s hands. Come, Anne, let 
us think it is all for the best,” he added, his face 
shining with a steady courage that shamed me. 
“To the rescue ! Heaven will help us to be in 
time yet ! ” 

“Ay, to the rescue!” I replied, catching his 
spirit. “ First to the right, I think, second to the 
left, first on the right again. That was the direc- 
tion given us, was it not ? The house opposite a 
book-shop with the sign of the Head of Erasmus. 
Forward, boys ! We may do it yet.” 

But before I pursue our fortunes farther let me 
explain. The room we had guarded so jealously 
was empty ! The plan had been mine and I was 
proud of it. For once Croisette had fallen into his 
rightful place. My flight from the gate, the vain 
attempt to close the house, the barricade before 
the inner door — these were all designed to draw 
the assailants to one spot. Pavannes and his 
wife — the latter hastily disguised as a boy — had 
hidden behind the door of the hutch by the gates 
— the porter’s hutch, and had slipped out and fled 
in the first confusion of the attack. 

Even the servants, as we learned afterwards, 
who had hidden themselves in the lower parts of 
the house got away in the same manner, though 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 165 

some of them — they were but few in all — were 
stopped as Huguenots and killed before the day 
ended. I had the more reason to hope that 
Pavannes and his wife would get clear off, inas- 
much as I had given the Dukes ring to him, 
thinking it might serve him in a strait, and believ- 
ing that we should have little to fear ourselves 
once clear of his house ; unless we should meet 
the Vidame indeed. 

We did not meet him as it turned out ; but 
before we had traversed a quarter of the distance 
we had to go we found that fears based on reason 
were not the only terrors we had to resist. Pavan- 
nes’ house, where we had hitherto been, stood at 
some distance from the centre of the blood-storm 
which was enwrapping unhappy Paris that morn- 
ing. It was several hundred paces from the Rue 
de Bethisy where the Admiral lived, and what 
with his comparative remoteness and the excite- 
ment of our own little drama, we had not attended 
much to the fury of the bells, the shots and crie s 
and uproar which proclaimed the state of the city. 
We had not pictured the scenes which were hap- 
pening so near. Now in the streets the truth 
broke upon us, and drove the blood from our 
cheeks. A hundred yards, the turning of a corner, 
sufficed. We who but yesterday left the country, 
who only a week before were boys, careless as 
other boys, not recking of death at all, were 
plunged now into the midst of horrors I cannot 
describe. And the awful contrast between the 


i66 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


sky above and the things about us ! Even now 
the lark was singing not far from us ; the sun- 
shine was striking the topmost stories of the 
houses ; the fleecy clouds were passing overhead, 
the freshness of a summer morning was 

Ah ! where was it ? Not here in the narrow 
lanes surely, that echoed and re-echoed with 
shrieks and curses and frantic prayers : in which 
bands of furious men rushed up and down, and 
where archers of the guard and the more cruel 
rabble were breaking in doors and windows, and 
hurrying with bloody weapons from house to 
house, seeking, pursuing, and at last killing in 
some horrid corner, some place of darkness — 
killing with blow on blow dealt on writhing 
bodies ! Not here, surely, where each minute a 
child, a woman died silently, a man snarling like 
a wolf — happy if he had snatched his weapon and 
got his back to the wall : where foul corpses 
dammed the very blood that ran down the 
kennel, and children — little children — played with 
them ! 

I was at Cahors in 1580 in the great street 
fight ; and there women were killed. I was with 
Chatillon nine years later, when he rode through 
the Faubourgs of Paris, with this very day and 
his father Coligny in his mind, and gave no quar- 
ter. I was at Coutras and Ivry, and more than 
once have seen prisoners led out to be piked in 
batches — ay, and by hundreds ! But war is war, 
and these were its victims, dying for the most 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 167 

part under Gods heaven with arms in their hands: 
not men and women fresh roused from their sleep. 
I felt on those occasions no such horror, I have 
never felt such burning pity and indignation as on 
the morning I am describing, that long-past sum- 
mer morning when I first saw the sun shining on 
the streets of Paris. Croisette clung to me, sick 
and white, shutting his eyes and ears, and letting 
me guide him as I would. Marie strode along 
on the other side of him, his lips closed, his 
eyes sinister. Once a soldier of the guard whose 
blood-stained hands betrayed the work he had 
done, came reeling — he was drunk, as were many 
of the butchers — across our path, and I gave way 
a little. Marie did not, but walked stolidly on as 
if he did not see him, as if the way were clear, 
and there were no ugly thing in God's image 
blocking it. 

Only his hand went as if by accident to the 
haft of his dagger. The archer — fortunately for 
himself and for us too — reeled clear of us. We 
escaped that danger. But to see women killed 
and pass by — it was horrible ! So horrible that if 
in those moments I had had the wishing-cap, I 
would have asked but for five thousand riders, 
and leave to charge with them through the 
streets of Paris! I would have had the days of 
the Jacquerie back again, and my men-at-arms 
behind me ! 

For ourselves, though the orgy was at its 
height when we passed, we were not molested. 


i68 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


We were stopped indeed three times — once in 
each of the streets we traversed — by different 
bands of murderers. But as we wore the same 
badges as themselves, and cried ‘ ‘ Vive la Messe ! ” 
and gave our names, we were allowed to pro- 
ceed. I can give no idea of the confusion and 
uproar, and I scarcely believe myself now that 
we saw some of the things we witnessed. Once 
a man gayly dressed, and splendidly mounted, 
dashed past us, waving his naked sword and cry- 
ing in a frenzied way 4 4 Bleed them ! Bleed them 1 
Bleed in May, as good to-day ! ” and never ceased 
crying out the same words until he passed beyond 
our hearing. Once we came upon the bodies of a 
father and two sons, which lay piled together in 
the kennel ; partly stripped already. The young- 
est boy could not have been more than thirteen. 
I mention this group, not as surpassing others in 
pathos, but because it is well known now that this 
boy, Jacques Nompar de Caurnont, was not dead, 
but lives to-day, my friend the Marshal de la 
Force. 

This reminds me too of the single act of kind- 
ness we were able to perform. We found our- 
selves suddenly, on turning a corner, amid a gang 
of seven or eight soldiers, who had stopped and 
surrounded a handsome boy, apparently about 
fourteen. He wore a scholar’s gown, and had 
some books under his arm, to which he clung 
firmly — though only perhaps by instinct — not- 
withstanding the furious air of the men who were 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 


169 

threatening him with death. They were loudly 
demanding his name, as we paused opposite them. 
He either could not or would not give it, but said 
several times in his fright that he was going to 
the College of Burgundy. Was he a Catholic ? 
they cried. He was silent. With an oath the 
man who had hold of his collar lifted up his pike, 
and naturally the lad raised the books to guard 
his face. A cry broke from Croisette. He rushed 
forward to stay the blow. 

“See! see ! ” he exclaimed loudly, his voice 
arresting the man’s arm in the very act of falling. 
“ He has a Mass Book ! He has a Mass Book ! 
He is not a heretic ! He is a Catholic ! ” 

The fellow lowered his weapon, and sullenly 
snatched the books. He looked at them stupidly 
with bloodshot wandering eyes, the red cross on 
the vellum bindings, the only thing he under- 
stood. But it was enough for him ; he bid the 
boy begone, and released him with a cuff and an 
oath. 

Croisette was not satisfied with this, though I 
did not understand his reason ; only I saw him 
exchange a glance with the lad. “Come, come ! ” 
he said lightly. “Give him his books ! You do 
not want them ! ” 

But on that the men turned savagely upon us. 
They did not thank us for the part we had 
already taken ; and this they thought was going 
too far. They were half drunk and quarrelsome, 
and being two to one, and two over, began to 


170 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


flourish their weapons in our faces. Mischief 
would certainly have been done, and very 
quickly, had not an unexpected ally appeared on 
our side. 

“Put up ! put up ! ” this gentleman cried in a 
bositerous voice — he was already in our midst. 
“What is all this about? What is the use of 
fighting amongst ourselves, when there is many 
a bonny throat to cut, and heaven to be gained 
by it ! put up, I say ! ” 

“Who are you ! ” they roared in chorus. 

“The Duke of Guise!” he answered coolly. 
“ Let the gentlemen go, and be hanged to you, 
you rascals ! ” 

The man’s bearing was a stronger argument 
than his words, for I am sure that a stouter or 
more reckless blade never swaggered in church 
or street. I knew him instantly, and even the 
crew of butchers seemed to see in him their 
master. They flung back a few curses at him, 
but having nothing to gain they yielded. They 
threw down the books with contempt — showing 
thereby their sense of true religion ; and trooped 
off roaring, “ Tuez / Tuez / Aux Huguenots ! ” 
at the top of their voices. 

The newcomer thus left with us was Bure — 
Blaise Bure — the same who only yesterday, 
though it seemed months and months back, had 
lured us into Bezers’ power. Since that moment 
we had not seen him. Now he had wiped off 
part of the debt, and we looked at him. uncertain 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 171 

whether to reproach him or no. He, however, 
was not one whit abashed, but returned our 
regards with a not unkindly leer. 

“ I bear no malice, young gentlemen/' he said 
impudently. 

“No, I should think not,” I answered. 

“And besides, we are quits now,” the knave 
continued. 

“You are very kind,” I said. 

“To be sure. You did me a good turn once,” 
he answered, much to my surprise. He seemed 
to be in earnest now. “You do not remember 
it, young gentleman, but it was you and your 
brother here” — he pointed to Croisette — “did it ! 
And by the Pope and the King of Spain I have 
not forgotten it ! ” 

“I have,” I said. 

“What! You have forgotten spitting that 
fellow at Caylus ten days ago ? Ca ! sa / 
You remember. And very cleanly done, too ! 
A pretty stroke ! Well, M. Anne, that was a 
clever fellow, a very clever fellow. He thought 
so, and I thought so, and what was more to the 
purpose the most noble Raoul de Eezers thought 
so too. You understand ? ” 

He leered at me and I did understand. I un- 
derstood that unwittingly I had rid Blaise Bure 
of a rival. This accounted for the respectful, 
almost the kindly way in which he had — well, 
deceived us. 

“ That is all,” he said. “If you want as much 


172 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


done for you, let me know. For the present, 
gentlemen, farewell ! ” 

He cocked his hat fiercely, and went off at 
speed the way we had ourselves been going ; 
humming as he went, 

“ Ce petit homme tant joli, 

Qui toujours cause et toujours rit, 

Qui toujours baise sa mignonne 
Dieu gard’ de mal ce petit homme ! ” 

His reckless song came back to us on the sum- 
mer breeze. We watched him make a playful 
pass at a corpse which some one had propped 
in ghastly fashion against a door — and miss it — • 
and go on whistling the same air — and then a 
corner hid him from view. 

We lingered only a moment ourselves ; merely 
to speak to the boy we had befriended. 

“Show the books if any one challenges you,” 
said Croisette to him shrewdly. Croisette was so 
much of a boy himself, with his fair hair like a 
halo about his white, excited face, that the picture 
of the two, one advising the other, seemed to me 
a strangely pretty one. “Show the books and 
point to the cross on them. And Heaven send 
you safe to your college.” 

“I would like to know your name, if you 
please,” said the boy. His coolness and dignity 
struck me as admirable under the circumstances. 
“ I am Maximilian de Bethune, son of the Baron 
de Rosny.” 


THE HEAD OF EE ASM US 173 

‘‘Then,” said Croisette briskly, “one good turn 
has deserved another. Your father, yesterday, at 
Etampes — no it was the day before, but we have 
not been in bed — warned us ” 

He broke off suddenly; then cried, “Run I 
run ! ” 

The boy needed no second warning indeed. 
He was off like the wind down the street, for we 
had seen and so had he, the stealthy approach of 
two or three prowling rascals on the look out for 
a victim. They caught sight of him and were 
strongly inclined to follow him ; but we were their 
match in numbers. The street was otherwise 
empty at the moment : and we showed them three 
excellent reasons why they should give him a clear 
start. 

His after-adventures are well-known : for he, 
too, lives. He was stopped twice after he left us. 
In each case he escaped by showing his book of 
offices. On reaching the college the porter re- 
fused to admit him, and he remained for some 
time in the open street exposed to constant danger 
of losing his life, and knowing not what to do. 
At length he induced the gatekeeper, by the 
present of some small pieces of money, to call the 
principal of the college, and this man humanely 
concealed him for three days. The massacre be- 
ing then at an end, two armed men in his father’s 
pav sought him out and restored him to his friends. 
So near was France to losing her greatest minister, 
the Duke de Sully. 


174 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


To return to ourselves. The lad out of sight, 
we instantly resumed our purpose, and trying to 
shut our eyes and ears to the cruelty, and ribaldry, 
and uproar through which we had still to pass, 
we counted our turnings with a desperate exact- 
ness, intent only on one thing — to reach Louis de ! 
Pavannes, to reach the house opposite to the Head 
of Erasmus, as quickly as we could. We presently 
entered a long, narrow street. At the end of it 
the river was visible gleaming and sparkling in 
the sunlight. The street was quiet ; quiet and 
empty. There was no living soul to be seen from 
end to end of it, only a prowling dog. The nQise J 
of the tumult raging in other parts was softened ; 
here by distance and the intervening houses. We ] 
seemed to be able to breathe more freely. 

‘‘This should be our street,” said Croisette. 

I nodded. At the same moment I espied, half- 
way down it, the sign we needed and pointed to 
it. But ah ! were we in time ? Or too late? That! 
was the question. By a single impulse we broke \ 
into a run, and shot down the roadway at speed. 

A few yards short of the Head of Erasmus we I 
came, one by one, Croisette first, to a full stop. 

A full stop ! 

The house opposite the bookseller’s was sacked ! i 
gutted from top to bottom. It was a tall house, ; 
immediately fronting the street, and every window 
in it was broken. The door hung forlornly on 
one hinge glaring cracks in its surface showing 
where the axe had splintered it. Fragments of 


THE HEAD OF ERASMUS 175 

glass and ware, flung out and shattered in sheer 
wantonness, strewed the steps : and down one 
corner of the latter a dark red stream trickled — to 
curdle by and by in the gutter. Whence came 
the stream ? Alas ! there was something more to 
be seen yet, something our eyes instinctively 
sought last of all. The body of a man. 

It lay on the threshold, the head hanging back, 
the wide glazed eyes looking up to the summer 
sky whence the sweltering heat would soon pour 
down upon it. We looked shuddering at the face. 
It was that of a servant, a valet who had been 
with Louis at Caylus. We recognized him at 
once for we had known and liked him. He had 
carried our guns on the hills a dozen times, and 
told us stories of the war. The blood crawled 
slowly from him. He was dead. 

Croisette began to shake all over. He clutched 
one of the pillars, which bore up the porch, and 
pressed his face against its cold surface, hiding 
his eyes from the sight. The worst had come. 
In our hearts I think we had always fancied some 
accident would save our friend, some stranger 
warn him. 

“Oh, poor, poor Kit ! ” Croisette cried, burst- 
ing suddenly into violent sobs. ‘ ‘ Oh, Kit ! Kit I " 


i?6 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


CHAPTER X. 

HAU, HAU, HUGUENOTS ! 

His late Majesty, Henry the Fourth, I re- 
member — than whom no braver man wore 
sword, who loved danger indeed for its own 
sake, and courted it as a mistress — could never 
sleep on the night before an action. I have 
heard him say himself that it was so before the 
fight at Arques. Croisette partook of this nat- 
ure too, being high-strung and apt to be easily 
over- wrought, but never until the necessity for 
exertion had passed away : while Marie and 
I, though not a whit stouter at a pinch, were 
slower to feel and less easy to move — more 
Germanic in fact. 

I name this here partly lest it should be 
thought after what I have just told of Croisette 
that there was anything of the woman about him 
— save the tenderness ; and partly to show that 
we acted at this crisis each after his manner. 
While Croisette turned pale and trembled, and hid 
his eyes, I stood dazed, looking from the des- 
olate house to the face stiffening in the sunshine, 
and back again ; wondering, though I had seen 


HA U, HA U, HUG UENO TS ! 


*77 


scores of dead faces since daybreak, and a pleni- 
tude of suffering- in all dreadful shapes, how Pro- 
vidence could let this happen to us. To us ! In 
his instincts man is as selfish as ary animal that 
lives. 

I saw nothing- indeed of the dead face and dead 
house after the first convincing- glance. I saw 
instead with hot, hot eyes the old castle at home, 
the green fields about the brook, and the gray 
hills rising from them ; and the terrace, and Kit 
coming to meet us, Kit with white face and 
parted lips and avid eyes that questioned us ! 
And we with no comfort to give her, no lover to 
bring back to her ! 

A faint noise behind as of a sign creaking in 
the wind, roused me from this most painful 
reverie. I turned round, not quickly or in sur- 
prise or fear. Rather n the same dull wonder. 
The upper part of the bookseller’s door was ajar. 
It was that I had heard opened. An old woman 
was peering out at us. 

As our eyes met, she made a slight movement 
to close the door again. But I did not stir, and 
seeming to be reassured by a second glance, she 
nodded to me in a stealthy fashion. I drew a 
step nearer, listlessly. “Pst! Pst !” she whis- 
pered. Pier wrinkled old face, which was like a 
Normandy apple long kept, was soft with pity as 
she looked at Croisette. “ Pst ! ” 

“Well ! ” I said, mechanically. 

“ Is he taken ? " she muttered. 

32 


* 7 * 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“ Who taken ? ” I asked stupidly. 

She nodded towards the forsaken house, and 
answered, “The young- lord who lodged there? 
Ah! sirs,” she continued, “he looked gay and 
handsome, if you’ll believe me, as he came from 
the king’s court yester even ! As bonny a sight 
in his satin coat, and his ribbons, as my eyes 
ever saw ! And to think that they should be hunt- 
ing him like a rat to-day ! ” 

The woman’s words were few and simple. 
But what a change they made in my world ! 
How my heart awoke from its stupor, and leapt 
up with a new joy and a new-born hope ! “ Did 'i 

he get away ? ” I cried eagerly. ‘ ‘ Did he es- ,] 
cape, mother, then ? ” 

“Ay, that he did!” she replied quickly. 

“ That poor fellow, yonder — he lies quiet enough 
now, God forgive him his heresy, say I ! — kept 
the door manfully while the gentleman got on 
the roof, and ran right down the street on the 
tops of the houses, with them firing and hooting 
at him : for all the world as if he had been a 
squirrel and they a pack of boys with stones ! ” 

“And he escaped ? ” 

“Escaped ! ” she answered more slowly, shak- 1 
ing her old head in doubt. “I do not know 
about that ! I fear they have got him by now, 
gentlemen. I have been shivering and shaking 
upstairs with my husband — he is in bed, good 
man, and the safest place for him — the saints 
have mercy upon us ! But I heard them go with 


HA U, HA U, HUGUENO TS! 


179 


their shouting and gunpowder right along to the 
river, and I doubt they will take him between this 
and the Chatelet ! I doubt they will.” 

“ How long ago was it, dame ? ” I cried. 

“ Oh ! may be half an hour. Perhaps you are 
friends of his ? ” she added questioningly. 

But I did not stay to answer her. I shook 
Croisette, who had not heard a word of this, by 
the shoulder. There is a chance that he has es- 
caped ! ” I cried in his ear. Escaped, do you 
hear?” And I told him hastily what she had 
said. 

It was fine, indeed, and a sight, to see the 
blood rush to his cheeks, and the tears dry in his 
eyes, and energy and decision spring to life in 
every nerve and muscle of his face. “Then 
there is hope ? ” he cried, grasping my arm. 
Hope, Anne ! Come ! Come ! Do not let us 
lose another instant. If he be alive let us join 
him ! ” 

The old woman tried to detain us, but in vain. 
Nay, pitying us, and fearing, I think, that we 
were rushing on our deaths, she cast aside her 
caution, and called after us aloud. We took no 
heed, running after Croisette, who had not waited 
for our answer, as fast as young limbs could carry 
us down the street. The exhaustion we had felt 
a moment before when all seemed lost — be it re- 
membered that we had not been to bed or tasted 
food for many hours — fell from us on the instant, 
and was clean gone and forgotten in the joy of 


l 8 o the house of the wolf 

this respite. Louis was living and for the mo- 
ment had escaped. 

Escaped! But for how long? We soon had 
our answer. The moment we turned the corner 
by the river-side, the murmur of a multitude not 
loud but continuous, struck our ears, even as the 
breeze off the water swept our cheeks. Across 
the river lay the thousand roofs of the lie de la 
Cite, all sparkling in the sunshine. But we swept 
to the right, thinking little of that sight, and 
checked our speed on finding ourselves on the 
skirts of the crowd. Before us was a bridge — the 
Pont au Change, I think — and at its head on our 
side of the water stood the Chatelet , with its hoary 
turrets and battlements. Between us and the 
latter, and backed only by the river, was a great 
open space half-filled with people, mostly silent 
and watchful, come together as to a show, and 
betraying, at present at least, no desire to take an 
active part in what was going on. 

We hurriedly plunged into the throng, and soon 
caught the clue to the quietness and the lack oi 
movement which seemed to prevail, and which 
at first sight had puzzled us. For a moment the. 
absence of the dreadful symptoms we had come 
to know so well — the flying and pursuing, the 
random blows, the shrieks and curses and batter- 
ings on doors, the tipsy yells, had reassured us. 
But the relief was short-lived. The people before 
us were under control. A tighter grip seemed to 
close upon our hearts as we discerned this, for we 


HA (7, HA U, HUG UENO TS ! j 3 1 

knew that the wild fury of the populace, like the 
rush of a bull, might have given some chance of 
escape — in this case as in others. But this cold- 
blooded ordered search left none. 

Every face about us was turned in the same 
direction ; away from the river and towards a 
block of old houses which stood opposite to it. 
The space immediately in front of these was 
empty, the people being kept back by a score or 
so of archers of the guard set at intervals, and by 
as many horsemen, who kept riding up and 
down, belaboring the bolder spirits with the flat 
of their swords, and so preserving a line. At each 
extremity of this — more noticeably on our left 
where the line curved round the angle of the 
buildings — stood a handful of riders, seven in a 
group perhaps. And alone in the middle of the 
space so kept clear, walking his horse up and 
down and gazing at the houses rode a man of 
great stature, booted and armed, the feather nod- 
ding in his bonnet. I could not see his face, but 
I had no need to see it. I knew him, and groaned 
aloud. It was Bezers ! 

I understood the scene better now. The horse- 
men, stern, bearded Switzers for the most part, 
who eyed the rabble about them with grim dis- 
dain, and were by no means chary of their blows, 
were all in his colors and armed to the teeth. 
The order and discipline were of his making : the 
revenge of his seeking. A grasp as of steel had 
settled upon our friend, and I felt that his last 


182 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


chance was gone. Louis de Pavannes might as 
well be lying on his threshold with his dead serv- 
ant by his side, as be in hiding within that ring 
of ordered swords. 

It was with despairing eyes we looked at the 
old wooden houses. They seemed to be bowing 
themselves towards us, their upper stories pro- 
jected so far, they were so decrepit. Their roofs 
were a wilderness of gutters and crooked gables, 
of tottering chimneys and wooden pinnacles and 
rotting beams. Amongst these I judged Kit's 
lover was hiding. Well, it was a good place for 
hide and seek — with any other player than Death. 
In the ground floors of the houses there were no 
windows and no doors ; by reason, I learned 
afterwards, of the frequent flooding of the river. 
But a long wooden gallery raised on struts ran 
along the front, rather more than the height of a 
man from the ground, and access to this was 
gained by a wooden staircase at each end. Above 
this first gallery was a second, and above that a 
lme of windows set between the gables. The 
C'-lock — it may have run for seventy or eighty 
yards along the shore — contained four houses, 
each with a door opening on to the lower gallery 
I saw indeed that but for the Vidame’s precau- 
tions Louis might well have escaped. Had the 
mob once poured helter-skelter into that labyrinth 
of rooms and passages he might with luck have 
mingled with them, unheeded and unrecognized, 
and effected his escape when they retreated. 


HAU, HA U , i HUGUENOTS! 


183 

But now there were sentries on each gallery 
and more on the roof. Whenever one of the 
latter moved or seemed to be looking inward — 
where a search party, I understood, were at 
work — indeed, if he did but turn his head, a thrill 
ran through the crowd and a murmur arose, 
which once or twice swelled to a savage roar 
such as earlier had made me tremble. When 
this happened the impulse came, it seemed to 
me, from the farther end of the line. There the 
rougher elements were collected, and there I 
more than once saw Bezers’ troopers in conflict 
v T ith the mob. In that quarter too a savage 
chant was presently struck up, the whole gather- 
ing joining in and yelling with an indescribably 
appalling effect : 

“ Hau ! Hau ! Huguenots ! 

Faites place aux Papegots ! ” 

in derision of the old song said to be popular 
amongst the Protestants. But in the Huguenot 
version the last words were of course transposed. 

We had worked our way by this time to the 
front of the line, and looking into one another’s 
eyes, mutely asked a question ; but not even 
Croisette had an answer ready. There could be 
no answer but one. What could we do ? Noth- 
ing. We were too late. Too late again ! And 
yet how dreadful it was to stand still among the 
cruel, thoughtless mob and see our friend, the 
touch of whose hand we knew so well, done to 
death for their sport ! Done to death as the old 


j 84 THE house of the wolf 

woman had said like any rat, not a soul save 
ourselves pitying him ! Not a soul to turn sick 
at his cry of agony, or shudder at the glance of 
his dying eyes. It was dreadful indeed. 

“Ah, well,” muttered a woman beside me to 
her companion — there were many women in the 
crowd — “it is down with the Huguenots, say I ! 
It is Lorraine is the fine man ! But after all yon 
is a bonny fellow and a proper, Margot ! I saw 
him leap from roof to roof over Love Lane, as 
if the blessed saints had carried him. And him a 
heretic ! ” 

“It is the black art,” the other answered, 
crossing herself. 

“ Maybe it is ! But he will need it all to give 
that big man the slip to-day,” replied the first 
speaker comfortably. 

“That devil!” Margot exclaimed, pointing 
with a stealthy gesture of hate at the Vidame. 
And then in a fierce whisper, with inarticulate 
threats, she told a story of him, which made me 
shudder. “ He did ! And she in religion too ! ” 
she concluded. “ May our Lady of Loretto 
reward him.” 

The tale might be true for aught I knew, horri- 
ble as it was ! I had heard similar ones attribut- 
ing things almost as fiendish to him, times and 
again ; from that poor fellow lying dead on 
Pavannes’ doorstep for one, and from others 
besides. As the Vidame in his pacing to and fro 
turned towards us, I gazed at him fascinated by 


HA U, HA U, HUG UENO TS ! 


185 

his grim visage and that story. His eye rested 
on the crowd about us, and I trembled, lest even 
at that distance he should recognize us. 

And he did ! I had forgotten his keenness of 
sight. His face flashed suddenly into a grim 
smile. The tail of his eye resting upon us, and 
seeming to forbid us to move, he gave some 
orders. The color fled from my face. To 
escape indeed was impossible, for we were 
hemmed in by the press, and could scarcely stir 
a limb. Yet I did make one effort. 

“ Croisette ! " I muttered — he was the rear- 
most — ‘‘stoop down. He may not have seen 
you. Stoop down, lad ! ” 

But St. Croix was obstinate and would not 
stoop. Nay, when one of the mounted men 
came, and roughly ordered us into the open, it 
was Croisette who pushing past us stepped out 
first with a lordly air. I, following him, saw 
that his lips were firmly compressed and that 
there was an eager light in his eyes. As we 
emerged, the crowd in our wake broke the line, 
and tried to pursue us ; either hostilely or through 
eagerness to see what it meant. But a dozen 
blows of the long pikes drove them back, howl- 
ing and cursing to their places. 

I expected to be taken to Bezers ; and what 
would follow I could not tell. But he did always 
it seemed what we least expected, for he only 
scowled at us now, a grim mockery on his lip, 
and cried, “See that they do not escape again ! 


i86 


1HE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


But do them no harm, sirrah, until I have the 
batch of them ! ” 

He turned one way, and I another, my heart 
swelling with rage. Would he dare to harm us? 
Would even the Vidame dare to murder a Caylus’ 
nephew openly and in cold blood? I did not 
think so. And yet — and yet 

Croisette interrupted the train of my thoughts. 

I found that he was not following me. He had 
sprung away, and in a dozen strides reached the 
Vidame’s stirrup, and was clasping his knee when 
I turned. I could not hear at the distance at 
which I stood, what he said, and the horseman to 
whom Bezers had committed us spurred between 
us. But I heard the Vidame’s answer. 

“No! no! no!” he cried with a ring of re- 
strained fury in his voice. “Let my plans alone ! 
What do you know of them ? And if you speak 
to me again, M. St. Croix — I think that is your 
name, boy — I will — no, I will not kill you. That 
might please you, you are stubborn, I can see. 
But I will have you stripped and lashed like the 
meanest of my scullions ! Now go, and take 
care ! " 

Impatience, hate and wild passion flamed in his 
face for the moment — transfiguring it. Croisette 
came back to us slowly, white-lipped and quiet. 

“Never mind,” I said bitterly. “The third 
time may bring luck.” 

Not that I felt much indignation at the Vidame’s 
insult, or any anger with the lad for incurring it; 


HA U, HA U> HUG UENO TS! 


187 


as I had felt on that other occasion. Life and 
death seemed to be everything on this morning. 
Words had ceased to please and annoy, for what 
are words to the sheep in the shambles ? One 
man’s life and one woman’s happiness — outside 
ourselves we thought only of these now. And 
some day, I reflected, Croisette might remember 
even with pleasure that he had, as a drowning 
man clutching at straws, stooped to a last prayer 
for them. 

We were placed in the middle of a knot of 
troopers who closed the line to the right. And 
presently Marie touched me. He was gazing in- 
tently at the sentry on the roof of the third house 
from us ; the farthest but one. The man’s back 
was to the parapet, and he was gesticulating 
wildly. 

“ He sees him ! ” Marie muttered. 

I nodded almost in apathy. But this passed 
away, and I started involuntarily and shuddered, 
as a savage roar, breaking the silence, rang along 
the front of the mob like a rolling volley of fire- 
arms. What was it ? A man posted at a window 
on the upper gallery had dropped his pike’s point, 
and was levelling it at some one inside : we could 
see no more. 

But those in front of the window could ; they 
saw too much for the Vidame’s precautions, as a 
moment showed. He had not laid his account 
with the frenzy of a rabble, the passions of a mob 
which had tasted blood. I saw the line at its 


1 88 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

farther and waver suddenly and toss to and fro. 
Then a hundred hands went up, and confused 
angry cries rose with them. The troopers struck 
about them, giving back slowly as they did so. 
But their efforts were in vain. With a scream of 
triumph a wild torrent of people broke through 
between them, leaving them stranded ; and 
rushed in a headlong cataract towards the steps. 
Bezers was close to us at the time. “ S'death ? ” 
he cried, swearing oaths which even his sover- 
eign could scarce have equalled. “They will 
snatch him from me yet, the hellhounds ! ” 

He whirled his horse round and spurred him in 
a dozen bounds to the stairs at our end of the 
gallery. There he leaped from him, dropping the 
bridle recklessly ; and bounding up three steps 
at a time, he ran along the gallery. Half-a-dozen 
of the troopers about us stayed only to fling their 
reins to one of their number, and then followed, 
their great boots clattering on the planks. 

My breath came fast and short, for I felt it was 
a crisis. It was a race between the two parties, 
or rather between the Vidame and the leaders of 
the mob. The latter had the shorter way to go. 
But on the narrow steps they were carried off their 
feet by the press behind them, and fell over and 
hampered one another and lost time. The Vi- 
dame, free from this drawback, was some way 
along the gallery before they had set foot on it. 

How I prayed — amid a scene of the wildest up- 
roar and excitement — that the mob might be first ! 


HA U, HA U, HUGUENO TS ! 


189 

Let there be only a short conflict between Bezers’ 
men and the people, and in the confusion Pa- 
vannes might yet escape. Hope awoke in the tur- 
moil. Above the yells of the crowd a score of deep 
voices about me thundered “a Wolf! a Wolf!" 
And I too, lost my head, and drew my sword, and 
screamed at the top of my voice, “a Caylus ! a 
Caylus ! ” with the maddest. 

Thousands of eyes besides mine were strained 
on the foremost figures on either side. They met 
as it chanced precisely at the door of the house. 
The mob leader was a slender man, I saw ; a priest 
apparently, though now he was girt with unpriestly 
weapons, his skirts were tucked up, and his head 
was bare. So much my first glance showed me. 
It was at the second look — it was when I saw the 
blood forsake his pale lowering face and leave it 
whiter than ever, when horror sprang along with 
recognition to his eyes, when borne along by the 
crowd behind he saw his position and who was 
before him — it was only then when his mean fig- 
ure shrank, and he quailed and would have turned 
but could not, that I recognized the Coadjutor. 

I was silent now, my mouth agape. There 
are seconds which are minutes ; ay, and many 
minutes. A man may die, a man may come into 
life in such a second. In one of these, it seemed 
to me, those two men paused, face to face; 
though in fact a pause was for one of them im- 
possible. Pie was between — and I think he 
knew it — the devil and the deep sea. Yet he 


190 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


seemed to pause, while all, even that yelling 
crowd below, held their breath. The next 
moment, glaring askance at one another like 
two dogs unevenly coupled, he and Bezers shot 
shoulder to shoulder into the doorway, and in an- 
other jot of time would have been out of sight. 
But then, in that instant, I saw something 
happen. The Vidame’s hand flashed up above 
the priest's head, and the cross-hilt of his sheathed 
sword crashed down with awful force, and still 
more awful passion, on the other’s tonsure ! The 
wretch went down like a log, without a word, 
without a cry ! Amid a roar of rage from a thou- 
sand thoats, a roar that might have shaken the 
stoutest heart, and blanched the swarthiest cheek, 
Bezers disappeared within ! 

It was then I saw the power of discipline and 
custom. Few as -were the troopers who had fol- 
lowed him — a mere handful — they fell without 
hesitation on the foremost of the crowd, who were 
already in confusion, stumbling and falling over 
their leader’s body ; and hurled them back pell- 
mell along the gallery. The throng below had 
no fire-arms, and could give no aid at the 
moment ; the stage was narrow ; in two minutes 
the Vidame’s people had swept it clear of the 
crowd and were in possession of it. A tall fellow 
took up the priest’s body, dead or alive, I do not 
know which, and flung it as if it had been a sack 
of corn over the rail. It fell with a heavy thud 
on the ground. I heard a piercing scream that 


HA U, HA U, H UG UE NO TS ! 


191 

rose above that babel — one shrill scream ! and the 
mob closed round and hid the thing-. 

If the rascals had had the wit to make at once 
for the right-hand stairs, where we stood with two 
or three of Bezers' men who had kept their 
saddles, I think they might easily have disposed 
of us, encumbered as we were, by the horses ; 
and then they could have attacked the handful 
on the gallery on both flanks. But the mob had 
no leaders, and no plan of operations. They 
seized indeed two or three of the scattered 
troopers, and tearing them from their horses, 
wreaked their passion upon them horribly. But 
most of the Switzers escaped, thanks to the atten- 
tion the mob paid to the houses and what was 
going forward on the galleries ; and these, extri- 
cating themselves joined us one by one, so that 
gradually a little ring of stern faces gathered 
about the stair-foot. A moment’s hesitation, and 
seeing no help for it, we ranged ourselves with 
them ; and, unchecked as unbidden, sprang on 
three of the led horses. 

All this passed more quickly than I can relate 
it : so that before our feet were well in the 
stirrups a partial silence, then a mightier roar of 
anger at once proclaimed and hailed the re-ap- 
pearance of the Vidame. Bigoted beyond belief 
vere the mob of Paris of that day, cruel, venge- 
ful, and always athirst for blood ; and this man 
had killed not only their leader but a priest. He 
had committed sacrilege ! What would they do ? 


192 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


I could just, by stooping forward, command a 
side view of the gallery, and the scene passing 
there was such that I forgot* in it our own peril. 

For surely in all his reckless life Bezers had 
never been so emphatically the man for the situa- 
tion — had never shown to such advantage as at 
this moment when he stood confronting the sea 
of faces, the sneer on his lip, a smile in his eyes ; 
and looked down unblenching, a figure of scorn, 
on the men who were literally agape for his life. 
The calm defiance of his steadfast look fascinated 
even me. Wonder and admiration for the time 
took the place of dislike. I could scarcely be- 
lieve that there was not some atom of good in 
this man so fearless. And no face but one — no 
face I think in the world, but one — could have 
drawn my eyes from him. But that one face was 
beside him. I clutched Marie’s arm, and pointed 
to the bareheaded figure at Bezers’ right hand. 

It was Louis himself : our Louis de Pavannes. 
But he was changed indeed from the gay cavalier 
I remembered, and whom I had last seen riding 
down the street at Caylus, smiling back at us, 
and waving his adieux to his mistress ! Beside 
the Vidame he had the air of being slight, even 
short. The face which I had known so bright 
and winning, was now white and set. His fair, 
curling hair — scarce darker than Croisette’s — hung 
dank, bedabbled with blood which flowed from a 
wound in his head. His sword was gone ; his 
dress was torn and disordered and covered with 


BA U, HA U, HUG UENO TS ! 


*93 


dust. His lips moved. But he held up his head, 
he bore himself bravely with it all ; so bravely, 
that I choked, and my heart seemed bursting as 
I looked at him standing there forlorn and now 
unarmed. I knew that Kit seeing him thus 
would gladly have died with him ; and I thanked 
God she did not see him. Yet there was a quiet- 
ness in his fortitude which made a great differ- 
ence between his air and that of Bezers. He 
lacked, as became one looking unarmed on cer- 
tain death, the sneer and smile of the giant beside 
him. 

What was the Vidame about to do? I shud- 
dered as I asked myself. Not surrender him, not 
fling him bodily to the people ? No, not that : I 
felt sure he would let no others share his ven- 
geance, that his pride would not suffer that. And 
even while I wondered the doubt was solved. I 
saw Bezers raise his hand in a peculiar fashion. 
Simultaneously a cry rang sharply out above the 
tumult, and down in headlong charge towards 
the farther steps came the band of horsemen, who 
had got clear of the crowd on that side. They 
were but ten or twelve, but under his eye they 
charged, as if they had been a thousand. The 
rabble shrank from the collision, and fled aside. 
Quick as thought the riders swerved; and chang- 
ing their course, galloped through the looser part 
of the throng, and in a trice drew rein side by 
side with us, a laugh and a jeer on their reckless 
iips. 

J 3 


194 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


It was neatly done : and while it was being 
done the Vidame and his knot of men, with those 
who had been searching the building, hurried 
down the gallery towards us, their rear cleared 
for the moment by the troopers’ feint. The dis- 
mounted men came bundling down the steps, 
their eyes aglow with the war-fire, and got horses 
as they could. Among them I lost sight of Louis, 
but perceived him presently, pale and bewildered, 
mounted behind a trooper. A man sprang up 
before each of us too, greeting our appearance 
merely by a grunt of surprise. For it was no 
time to ask or answer. The mob was recovering 
itself, and each moment brought it reinforcements, 
while its fury was augmented by the trick we had 
played it, and the prospect of our escape. 

We were under forty, all told ; and some men 
were riding double. Bezers’ eye glanced hastily 
over his array, and lit on us three. He turned 
and gave some order to his lieutenant. The fellow 
spurred his horse, a splendid gray, as powerful as 
his master’s, alongside of Croisette, threw his arm 
round the lad, and dragged him dexterously on 
to his own crupper. I did not understand the 
action, but I saw Croisette settle himself behind 
Blaise Bure — for he it was — and supposed no 
harm was intended. The next moment we had 
surged forward, and were swaying to and fro in 
the midst of the crowd. 

What ensued I cannot tell. The outlook, so 
far as I was concerned, was limited to wildly 


HA U, HA U, HUGUENO TS! 


*95 


plunging horses — we were in the centre of the 
band — and riders swaying in the saddle — with a 
glimpse here and there of a fringe of white scowl- 
ing faces and tossing arms. Once, a lane open- 
ing, I saw the Vidame’s charger — he was in the 
van — stumble and fall among the crowd and 
heard a great shout go up. But Bezers by a 
mighty effort lifted it to its legs again. And once 
too, a minute later, those riding on my right, 
swerved outwards, and I saw something I never 
afterwards forgot. 

It was the body of the Coadjutor, lying face up- 
wards, the eyes open and the teeth bared in a 
last spasm. Prostrate on it lay a woman, a young 
woman, with hair like red gold falling about her 
neck, and skin like milk. I did not know whether 
she was alive or dead ; but I noticed that one 
arm stuck out stiffly and the crowd flying before 
the sudden impact of the horses must have passed 
over her, even if she had escaped the iron hoofs 
which followed. Still in the fleeting glance I had 
of her as my horse bounded aside, I saw no 
wound or disfigurement. Her one arm was cast 
about the priest’s breast ; her face was hidden on 
it. But for all that, I knew her — knew her, shud- 
dering for the woman whose badges I was even 
now wearing, whose gift I bore at my side ; and 
I remembered the priest’s vaunt of a few hours 
before, made in her presence, “ There is no man 
in Paris shall thwart me to-night ! ” 

It had been a vain boast indeed ! No hand in 


1.96 the house of the wolf 

all that host of thousands was more feeble than 
his now : for good or ill ! No brain more dull, 
no voice less heeded. A righteous retribution 
indeed had overtaken him. He had died by 
the sword he had drawn — died, a priest, by vio- 
lence ! The cross he had renounced had crushed 
him. And all his schemes and thoughts, and no 
doubt they had been many, had perished with 
him. It had come to this, only this, the sum of 
the whole matter, that there was one wicked 
man the less in Paris — one lump of breathless 
clay the more. 

For her — the woman on his breast — what man 
can judge a woman, knowing her ? And not 
knowing her, how much less ? For the present 1 
put her out of my mind, feeling for the moment 
faint and cold. 

We were clear of the crowd, and clattering un- 
molested down a paved street before I fully re- 
covered from the shock which this sight had 
caused me. Wonder whither we were going took 
its place. To Bezers’ house? My heart sank at 
the prospect if that were so. Before I thought of 
an alternative, a gateway flanked by huge round 
towers appeared before us, and we pulled up 
suddenly, a confused jostling mass in the narrow 
way ; while some words passed between the 
-Vidame and the Captain of the Guard. A pause 
of several minutes followed ; and then the gates 
rolled slowly open, and two by two we passed 
under the arch. Those gates might have be- 


HA U, HAU, HUGUENOTS! 


i 9 y 

longed to a fortress or a prison, a dungeon or a 
palace, for all I knew. 

They led, however, to none of these, but to 
an open space, dirty and littered with rubbish, 
marked by a hundred ruts and tracks, and fringed 
with disorderly cabins and make-shift booths. 
And beyond this — oh, ye gods ! the joy of it — 
beyond this, which we crossed at a rapid trot, 
lay the open country ! 

The transition and relief were so wonderful 
that I shall never forget them. I gazed on the 
wide landscape before me, lying quiet and peace- 
ful in the sunlight, and could scarce believe in 
my happiness. I drew the fresh air into my 
lungs, I threw up my sheathed sword and caught 
it again in a frenzy of delight, while the gloomy 
men about me smiled at my enthusiasm. I felt 
the horse beneath me move once more like a 
thing of life. No enchanter with his wand, not 
Merlin nor Virgil, could have made a greater 
change in my world, than had the captain of the 
gate with his simple key ! Or so it seemed to me 
in the first moments of freedom, and escape — of 
removal from those loathsome streets. 

I looked back at Paris — at the cloud oi smoke 
which hung over the towers and roofs ; and it 
seemed to me the canopy of hell itself. I fancied 
that my head still rang with the cries and screams 
and curses, the sounds of death. In very fact, I 
could hear the dull reports of firearms near the 
~ouvre, and the jangle of the bells. Country- 


198 the house of the wolf 

folk were congregated at the cross-roads, and in 
the villages, listening and gazing ; asking timid 
questions of the more good-natured among us, 
and showing that the rumor of the dreadful 
work doing in the town had somehow spread 
abroad. And this though I learned afterwards 
that the keys of the city had been taken the night 
before to the king, and that, except a party with 
the Duke of Guise, who had left at eight in 
pursuit of Montgomery and some of the Prot- 
estants — lodgers, happily for themselves, in the 
Faubourg St. Germain — no one had left the town 
before ourselves. 

While I am speaking of our departure from 
Paris, I may say what I have to say of the dread- 
ful excesses of those days, ay, and of the following 
days ; excesses of which France is now ashamed, 
and for which she blushed even before the acces- 
sion of his late Majesty. I am sometimes asked, 
as one who witnessed them, what I think, and 
I answer that it was not our country which was 
to blame. A something besides Queen Catherine 
de’ Medici had been brought from Italy forty 
years before, a something invisible but very 
powerful ; a spirit of cruelty and treachery. In 
Italy it had done small harm. But grafted on 
French daring and recklessness, and the rougher 
and more soldierly manners of the north, this 
spirit of intrigue proved capable of very dreadful 
things. For a time, until it wore itself out, it 
was the curse of France. Two Dukes of Guise, 


HA U, HA U, HUG UENO TS 


199 


Francis and Henry, a cardinal of Guise, the 
Prince of Conde, Admiral Coligny, King Henry 
the Third — all these the foremost men of their 
day — died by assassination within little more 
than a quarter of a century, to say nothing of the 
Prince of Orange, and King Henry the Great. 

Then mark — a most curious thing — the extreme 
youth of those who were in this business. 
France, subject to the Queen-Mother, of course, 
was ruled at the time by boys scarce out of 
their tutors’ hands. They were mere lads, hot- 
blooded, reckless nobles, ready for any wild 
brawl, without forethought or prudence. Of the 
four Frenchmen who it is thought took the lead- 
ing parts, one, the king, was twenty-two ; Mon- 
sieur, his brother, was only twenty ; the Duke of 
Guise was twenty-one. Only the Marshal de 
Tavannes was of mature age. For the other con- 
spirators, for the Queen-Mother, for her advisers 
Retz and Nevers and Birague, they were Ital- 
ians ; and Italy may answer for them if Florence, 
Mantua and Milan care to raise the glove. 

To return to our journey. A league from the 
town we halted at a large inn, and some of us 
dismounted. Horses were brought out to fill the 
places of those lost or left behind, and Bure had 
food served to us. We were famished and ex- 
hausted, and ate it ravenously, as if we could 
never have enough. 

The Vidame sat his horse apart, served by his 
page. I stole a glance at him, and it struck me 


200 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


that even on his iron nature the events of fhe 
night had made some impression. I read, or 
thought I read, in his countenance, signs of emo- 
tions not quite in accordance with what I knew 
of him — emotions strange and varied. I could 
almost have sworn that as he looked at us a 
flicker of kindliness lit up his stern and cruel 
gloom ; I could almost have sworn he smiled 
with a curious sadness. As for Louis, riding 
with a squad who stood in a different part of the 
yard, he did not see us ; had not yet seen us at 
all. His side face, turned towards me, was pale 
and sad, his manner preoccupied, his mien rather 
sorrowful than downcast. He was thinking, I 
judged, as much of the many brave men who had 
yesterday been his friends — companions at board 
and play-table — as of his own fate. When we 
presently, at a signal from Bure, took to the road 
again, I asked no permission, but thrusting my 
horse forward, rode to his side as he passed 
through the gateway. 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


201 


CHAPTER XI. 

A NIGHT OF SORROW. 

** Louis! Louis!” 

He turned with a start at the sound of my 
voice, joy and bewilderment — and no wonder — 
in his countenance. He had not supposed us to 
be within a hundred leagues of him. And lo ! 
here we were, knee to knee, hand meeting hand 
in a long grasp, while his eyes, to which tears 
sprang unbidden, dwelt on my face as though they 
could read in it the features of his sweetheart. 
Some one had furnished him with a hat, and en- 
abled him to put his dress in order, and wash his 
wound, which was very slight, and these changes 
had improved his appearance ; so that the shadow 
of grief and despondency passing for a moment 
from him in the joy of seeing me, he looked once 
more his former self : as he had looked in the old 
days at Caylus on his return from hawking, or 
from some boyish escapade among the hills. 
Only, alas ! he wore no sword. 

“And now tell me all,” he cried, after his first 
exclamation of wonder had found vent. “ How 
on earth do you come here ? Here, of all places, 


202 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


and by my side ? Is all well at Caylus ? Surely 

Mademoiselle is not ” 

“ Mademoiselle is well! perfectly well! And 
thinking of you, I swear ! ” I answered passion- 
ately. “ For us,” I went on, eager for the mo- 
ment to escape that subject — how could I talk of 
it in the daylight and under strange eyes? — 
“ Marie and Croisette are behind. We left Caylus 
eight days ago. We reached Paris yesterday 
evening. We have not been to bed ! We have 

passed, Louis, such a night as I never ” 

He stopped me with a gesture. “ Hush ! ” he 
said, raising his hand. “Don’t speak of it, 
Anne ! ” and I saw that the fate of his friends was 
still too recent, the horror of his awakening to 
those dreadful sights and sounds was still too 
vivid for him to bear reference to them. Yet after 
riding for a time in silence — though his lips moved 
— he asked me again what had brought us up. 

“ We came to warn you — of him,” I answered, 
pointing to the solitary, moody figure of the Vi- 
dame, who was riding ahead of the party. “ He 
— he said that Kit should never marry you, and 
boasted of what he would do to you, and 
frightened her. So, learning he was going to 
Paris, we followed him — to put you on your 
guard, you know.” And I briefly sketched our 
adventures, and the strange circumstances and 
mistakes which had delayed us hour after hour, 
through all that strange night, until the time had 
gone by when we could do good. 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 203 

His eyes glistened and his color rose as I told 
the story. He wrung my hand warmly, and 
looked back to smile at Marie and Croisette. “ It 
was like you ! ” he ejaculated with emotion. “ It 
was like her cousins ! Brave, brave lads ! The 
Vicomte will live to be proud of you ! Some day 
you will all do great things ! I say it ! ” 

“But oh, Louis!” I exclaimed sorrowfully, 
though my heart was bounding with pride at his 
words, “ if we had only been in time ! If we had 
only come to you two hours earlier ! ” 

“You would have spoken to little purpose then, 
I fear,” he replied, shaking his head. “ We were 
given over as a prey to the enemy. Warnings ? 
We had warnings in plenty. De Rosny warned 
us, and we scoffed at him. The king's eye warned 

us, and we trusted him. But ” and Louis’ 

form dilated and his hand rose as he went on, and 
I thought of his cousin’s prediction — “ it will never 
be so again in France, Anne ! Never ! No man 
will after this trust another ! There will be no 
honor, no faith, no quarter, and no peace ! And 
for the Valois who has done this, the sword will 
never depart from his house ! I believe it ! I do 
believe it ! ” 

How truly he spoke we know now. For two- 
and twenty years after that twenty-fourth of 
August, 1572, the sword was scarcely laid aside in 
France for a single month. In the streets of Paris, 
at Arques, and Coutras, and Ivry, blood flowed 
like water that the blood of the St. Bartholomew 


204 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


might be forgotten — that blood which, by the 
grace of God, Navarre saw fall from the dice box 
on the eve of the massacre ! The last of the 
Valois passed to the vaults of St. Denis : and a 
greater king, the first of all Frenchmen, alive or 
-dead, the bravest, gayest, wisest of the land, 
succeeded him : yet even he had to fall by the 
knife, in a moment most unhappy for his country, 
before France, horror-stricken, put away the 
treachery and evil from her. 

Talking with Louis as we rode, it was not un- 
natural — nay, it was the natural result of the situa- 
tion — that I should avoid one subject. Yet that 
subject was the uppermost in my thoughts. 
What were the Vidame’s intentions ? What was 
the meaning of this strange journey ? What was 
to be Louis’ fate ? I shrank with good reason from 
asking him these questions. There could be so 
little room for hope, even after that smile which I 
had seen Bezers smile, that I dared not dwell upon 
them. I should but torture him and myself. 

So it was he who first spoke about it. Not at 
that time, but after sunset, when the dusk had 
fallen upon us, and found us still plodding south- 
ward with tired horses ; a link outwardly like other 
links in the long chain of riders, toiling onwards. 
Then he said suddenly, “ Do you know whither 
we are going, Anne ?” 

I started, and found myself struggling with a 
strange confusion before I could reply. ‘ ‘ Home,” 
l suggested at random. 


A NIGHT OF SORROV, V 


205 


“Home? No. And yet nearly home. To 
Cahors,” he answered with an odd quietude. 
t( Your home, my boy, I shall never see again, nor 
Kit! Nor my own Kit 1 ” It was the first time I had 
heard him call her by the fond name we used our- 
selves. And the pathos in his tone as of the past, 
not the present, as of pure memory — I was very 
thankful that I could not in the dusk see his face 
— shook my self-control. I wept. “ Nay, my 
lad,” be went on, speaking softly and leaning from 
his saddle so that he could lay his hand on my 
shoulder, “ we are all men together. We must be 
brave. Tears cannot help us, so we should leave 
them to the — women.” 

I cried more passionately at that. Indeed his 
own voice quavered over the last word. But in a 
moment he was talking to me coolly and quietly. 
I had muttered something to the effect that the 
Vidame would not dare — it would be too public. 

“There is no question of daring in it,” he re- 
plied. “And the more public it is, the better he 
will like it. They have dared to take thousands 
of lives since yesterday. There is no one to call 
him to account since the king — our king forsooth ! 
— has declared every Huguenot an outlaw, to be 
killed wherever he be met with. No, when Bezers 
disarmed me yonder,” he pointed as he spoke to 
his wound, “ I looked of course for instant death. 
Anne ! I saw blood in his eyes ! But he did not 
strike.” 

“Why not?” I asked in suspense. 


206 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“I can only guess,” Louis answered with a 
sigh. “ He told me that my life was in his hands, 
but that he should take it at his own time. Fur- 
ther that if I would not give my word to go with 
him without trying to escape, he would throw me 
to those howling dogs outside. I gave my word. 
We are on the road together. And oh, Anne 1 
yesterday, only yesterday, at this time I was riding 
home with Teligny from the Louvre, where we 
had been playing at paume with the king ! And 
the world — the world was very fair.” 

“ I saw you, or rather Croisette did,” I muttered 
as his sorrow — not for himself, but his friends — 
forced him to stop. “Yet how, Louis, do you 
know that we are going to Cahors ? ” 

“ He told me, as we passed through the gates, 
that he was appointed Lieutenant-Governor of 
Quercy to carry out the edict against the religion. 
Do you not see, Anne ? ” my companion added 
bitterly, “to kill me at once were too small a 
revenge for him ! He must torture me — or rather 
he would if he could — by the pains of anticipation, 
besides, my execution will so finely open his bed 
of justice. Bah ! ” and Pavannes raised his head 
proudly, “ I fear him not ! I fear him not a jot ! ” 
For a moment he forgot Kit, the loss of his 
friends, his own doom. He snapped his fingers 
in derision of his foe. 

But my heart sank miserably. The Vidame’s- 
rage I remembered had been directed rather 
against my cousin than her lover ; and now by the 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


207 


light of his threats I read Bezer’s purpose more 
clearly than Louis could. His aim was to punish 
the woman who had played with him. To do so 
he was bringing her lover from Paris that he might 
execute him — after giving her notice! That was 
it : after giving her notice, it might be in her very 
presence ! He would lure her to Cahors, and 
then 

I shuddered. I well might feel that a precipice 
was opening at my feet. There was something in 
the plan so devilish, yet so accordant with those 
stories I had heard of the Wolf, that I felt no doubt 
of my insight. I read his evil mind, and saw in 
a moment why he had troubled himself with us. 
He hoped to draw Mademoiselle to Cahors by our 
means. 

Of course I said nothing of this to Louis. I hid 
my feelings as well as I could. But I vowed a 
great vow that at the eleventh hour we would 
baulk the Vidame. Surely if all else failed we 
could kill him, and, though we died ourselves, 
spare Kit this ordeal. My tears were dried up as 
by a fire. My heart burned with a great and noble 
rage : or so it seemed to me ! 

I do not think that there was ever any journey 
so strange as this one of ours. We met with the 
same incidents which had pleased us on the road 
to Paris. But their novelty was gone. Gone too 
were the cosy chats with old rogues of landlords 
and good-natured dames. We were travelling 
now in such force that our coming was rather a 


20S 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


terror to the innkeeper than a boon. How much 
the Lieutenant-Governor of Quercy, going down 
to his province, requisitioned in the king’s name; 
and for how much he paid, we could only judge 
from the gloomy looks which followed us as we 
rode away each morning. Such looks were not 
solely due I fear to the news from Paris, although 
for some time we were the first bearers of the 
tidings. 

Presently, on the third day of our journey I 
think, couriers from the Court passed us : and 
henceforth forestalled us. One of these messen- 
gers — who I learned from the talk about me was 
bound for Cahors with letters for the Lieutenant- 
Governor and the Count- Bishop — the Vidame 
interviewed and stopped. How it was managed 
I do not know, but I fear the Count-Bishop never 
got his letters, which I fancy would have given 1 
him some joint authority. Certainly we left the l 
messenger — a prudent fellow with a care for his 
skin — in comfortable quarters at Limoges, whence 
I do not doubt he presently returned to Paris at 
his leisure. 

The strangeness of the journey however arose 
from none of these things, but from the relations 
of our party to one another. After the first day 
we four rode together, unmolested, so long as we 
kept near the centre of the straggling cavalcade 
The Vidame always rode alone, and in from 
brooding with bent head and sombre face over his 
revenge, as I supposed. He would ride in this 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


209 


fashion, speaking to no one and giving no orders, 
for a day together. At times I came near to pity- 
ing him. He had loved Kit in his masterful way, 
the way of one not wont to be thwarted, and he 
had lost her — lost her, whatever might happen. 
He would get nothing after all by his revenge. 
Nothing but ashes in the mouth. And so I saw 
in softer moments something inexpressibly melan- 
choly in that solitary giant-figure pacing always 
alone. 

He seldom spoke to us. More rarely to Louis. 
When he did, the harshness of his voice and his 
cruel eyes betrayed the gloomy hatred in which 
he held him. At meals he ate at one end of the 
table : we four at the other, as three of us had 
done on that first evening in Paris. And some- 
times the covert looks, the grim sneer he shot at 
his rival — his prisoner — made me shiver even in 
the sunshine. Sometimes, on the other hand, 
when I took him unawares, I found an expres- 
sion on his face I could not read. 

I told Croisette, but warily, my suspicions of 
his purpose. He heard me, less astounded to all 
appearance than I had expected. Presently I 
learned the reason. He had his own view. 
“ Do you not think it possible, Anne?” he sug- 
gested timidly — we were of course alone at the 
time — “that he thinks to make Louis resign 
Mademoiselle ? ” 

“ Resign her ! ” I exclaimed obtusely. “ How ? ” 

“ By giving him a choice — you understand? ” 

14 


210 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


“I did understand — I saw it in a moment. I 
had been dull not to see it before. Bezers might 
put it in this way : let M. de Pavannes resign his 
mistress and live, or die and lose her. 

“I see,” I answered. “But Louis would not 
give her up. Not to him ! ” 

“He would lose her either way,” Croisette 
answered in a low tone. “ That is not however 
the worst of it. Louis is in his power. Suppose 
he thinks to make Kit the arbiter, Anne, and puts 
Louis up to ransom, setting Kit for the price ? 
And gives her the option of accepting himself, 
and saving Louis’ life ; or refusing, and leaving 
Louis to die ? ” 

“St. Croix!” I exclaimed fiercely. “He 
would not be so base ! ” And yet was not even 
this better than the blind vengeance I had myself 
attributed to him ? ” 

“Perhaps not,” Croisette answered, while he 
gazed onwards through the twilight. We were 
at the time the foremost of the party save the 
Vidame ; and there was nothing to interrupt our 
view of his gigantic figure as he moved on alone 
before us with bowed shoulders. “Perhaps not,” 
Croisette repeated thoughtfully. “Sometimes I 
think we do not understand him ; and that after 
all there may be worse people in the world than 
Bezers. ” 

I looked hard at the lad, for that was not what 
I had meant. “Worse?” I said. “I do not 
think so. Hardly ! ” 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


21 I 


** Yes, worse, ” he replied, shaking his head. 
“ Do you remember lying under the curtain in 
the box-bed at Mirepoix’s ? ” 

“Of course I do ! Do you think I shall ever 
forget it ? ” 

“And Madame d’O coming in ? ” 

“With the Coadjutor? ” I said with a shudder. 
“Yes.” 

“No, the second time,” he answered, “when 
she came back alone. It was pretty dark, you 
remember, and Madame de Pavannes was at the 
window, and her sister did not see her? ” 

“Well, well, I remember,” I said impatiently. 
I knew from the tone of his voice that he had some- 
thingto tell me about Madame d'O, and I was not 
anxious to hear it. I shrank, as a wounded man 
shrinks from the cautery, from hearing anything 
about that woman ; herself so beautiful, yet mov- 
ing in an atmosphere of suspicion and horror. 
Was it shame, or fear, or some chivalrous feeling 
having its origin in that moment when I had 
fancied myself her knight? I am not sure, for I 
had not made up my mind even now whether I 
ought to pity or detest her; whether she had 
made a tool of me, or I had been false to her. 

“She came up to the bed, you remember, 
Anne?” Croisette went on. “You were next 
to her. She saw you indistinctly, and took you 
for her sister. And then I sprang from the bed.” 

4 4 1 know you did ! ” I exclaimed sharply. All 
this time I had forgotten that grievance. “You 


212 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


nearly frightened her out of her wits, St. Croix. 
I cannot think what possessed you — why you 
did it?” 

“ To save your life, Anne,” he answered sol- 
emnly, “and her from a crime ! an unutterable, an 
unnatural crime. She had come back to — I can 
hardly tell it you — to murder her sister. You 
start. You do not believe me. It sounds too 
horrible. But I could see better than you could. 
She was exactly between you and the light. I 
saw the knife raised. I saw her wicked face! 
If I had not startled her as I did, she would have 
stabbed you. She dropped the knife on the floor, 
and I picked it up and have it. See ! ” 

I looked furtively, and turned away again, 
shivering. “Why,” I muttered, “why did she 
do it ? ” 

“She had failed you know to get her sister 
back to Pavannes’ house, where she would have 
fallen an easy victim. Bezers, who knew 
Madame d'O, prevented that. Then that fiend 
slipped back with her knife ; thinking that in the 
common butchery the crime would be overlooked, 
and never investigated, and that Mirepoix would 
be silent ! ” 

I said nothing. I was stunned. Y’et I believed 
the story. When I went over the facts in rny 
mind I found that a dozen things, overlooked at 
the time and almost forgotten in the hurry of 
events, sprang up to confirm it. M. de Pa- 
vannes’ — the other M. de Pavannes’ — suspicions 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


213 


had been well founded. Worse than Bezers was 
she? Ay! worse a hundred times. As much 
worse as treachery ever is than violence ; as the 
pitiless fraud of the serpent is baser than the rage 
of the wolf. 

“ I thought,” Croisette added softly, not look- 
ing at me, “when I discovered that you had 
gone off with her, that I should never see you 
again, Anne. I gave you up for lost. The hap- 
piest moment of my life I think was when I saw 
you come back.” 

“Croisette,” I whispered piteously, my cheeks 
burning, “ let us never speak of her again.” 

And we never did — for years. But how strange 
is life. She and the wicked man with whom her 
fate seemed bound up had just crossed our lives 
when their own were at the darkest. They 
clashed with us, and, strangers and boys as we 
were, we ruined them. I have often asked my- 
self what would have happened to me had I met 
her at some earlier and less stormy period — in 
the brilliance of her beauty. And I find but one 
answer. I should bitterly have rued the day. 
Providence was good to me. Such men and such 
women, we may believe have ceased *to exist 
now. They flourished in those miserable days of 
war and divisions, and passed away with them 
like the foul night-birds of the battle-field. 

To return to our journey. In the morning sun- 
shine one could not but be cheerful, and think 
good things possible. The worst trial I had came 


214 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


with each sunset. For then — we generally rode 
late into the evening — Louis sought my side to 
talk to me of his sweetheart. And how he would 
talk of her ! How many thousand messages he 
gave me for her ! How often he recalled old 
days among the hills, with each laugh and jest 
and incident, when we five had been as children ! 
Until I would wonder passionately, the tears run- 
ning down my face in the darkness, how he could 
— how he could talk of her in that quiet voice 
which betrayed no rebellion against fate, no curs- 
ing of Providence ! How he could plan for her 
and think of her when she should be alone ! 

Now I understand it. He was still laboring 
under the shock of his friends’ murder. He was 
still partially stunned. Death seemed natural 
and familiar to him, as to one who had seen his 
allies and companions perish without warning or 
preparation. Death had come to be normal to 
him, life the exception ; as I have known it seem 
to a child brought face to face with a corpse for 
the first time. 

One afternoon a strange thing happened. We 
could see the Auvergne hills at no great distance 
on our left — the Puy de Dome above them — and 
we four were riding together. We had fallen — an 
unusual thing — to the rear of the party. Our 
road at the moment was a mere track running 
across moorland, sprinkled here and there with 
gorse and brushwood. The main company had 
straggled on out of sight. There were but half a 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


2I 5 


dozen riders to be seen an eighth of a league be- 
fore us, a couple almost as far behind. I looked 
every way with a sudden surging of the heart. 
For the first time the possibility of flight occurred 
to me. The rough Auvergne hills were within 
reach. Supposing we could get a lead of a quar- 
ter of a league, we could hardly be caught before 
darkness came and covered us. Why should we 
not put spurs to our horses and ride off? 

“Impossible ! ” said Pavannes quietly, when I 
spoke. 

“Why? ” I asked with warmth. 

“Firstly,” he replied, “ because I have given 
my word to go with the Vidame to Cahors.” 

My face flushed hotly. But I cried, “ What of 
that? You were taken by treachery ! Your safe 
conduct was disregarded. Why should you be 
scrupulous ? Your enemies are not. This is 
folly ! ” 

“I think not. Nay,” Louis answered, shaking 
his head, “you would not doit yourself in my 
place. ” 

“ I think I should,” I stammered awkwardly. 

“No, you would not, lad,” he said smiling. 
“I know you too well. But if I would do it, it is 
impossible.” He turned in the saddle and, shad- 
ing his eyes with his hand from the level rays 
of the sun, looked back intently. “It is as I 
thought,” he continued. “ One of those men is 
riding gray Margot, which Bure' said yesterday 
was the fastest mare in the troop. And the man 


2l6 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


on her is a light weight. The other fellow has 
that Norman bay horse we were looking at this 
morning. It is a trap laid by Bezers, Anne. If 
we turned aside a dozen yards, those two would 
be after us like the wind. ,, 

“Do you mean,” I cried, “that Bezers has 
drawn his men forward on purpose ? ” 

“Precisely;” was Louis’s answer. “That is 
the fact. Nothing would please him better than 
to take my honor first, and my life afterwards. 
But, thank God, only the one is in his power.” 

And when I came to look at the horsemen, im- 
mediately before us, they confirmed Louis’s view. 
They were the best mounted of the party : all 
men of light weight, too. One or other of them 
was constantly looking back. As night fell they 
closed in upon us with their usual care. When 
Bure joined us there was a gleam of intelligence 
in his bold eyes, a flash of conscious trickery. 
He knew that we had found him out, and cared 
nothing for it. 

And the others cared nothing. But the thought 
that if left to myself I should have fallen into the 
Vidame’s cunning trap filled me with new hatred 
towards him ; such hatred and such fear — for 
there was humiliation mingled with them — as I 
had scarcely felt before. I brooded over this, 
barely noticing what passed in our company for 
hours — nay, not until the next day when, towards 
evening, the cry arose round me that we were 
within sight of Cahors. Yes, there it lay below 


A NIGHT GT SOT TO W 


217 


us, in its shallow basin, surrounded by gentle 
hills. The domes of the cathedral, the towers 
of the Vallandre Bridge, the bend of the Lot, 
where its stream embraces the town — I knew 
them all. Our long journey was over. 

And I had but one idea. I had some time 
before communicated to Croisette the desperate 
design I had formed — to fall upon Bezers and kill 
him in the midst of his men — in the last resort. 
Now the time had come if the thing was ever to 
be done : if we had not left it too long already. 
And I looked about me. There was some con- 
fusion and jostling as we halted on the brow of 
the hill, while two men were despatched ahead 
to announce the governors arrival, and Bure, 
with half a dozen spears, rode out as an advanced 
guard. 

The road where we stood was narrow, a 
shallow cutting winding down the declivity of 
the hills. The horses were tired. It was a bad 
time and place for my design, and only the com- 
ing night was in my favor. But I was desper- 
ate. 

Yet before I moved or gave a signal which 
nothing could recall, I scanned the landscape 
eagerly, scrutinizing in turn the small, rich plain 
below us, warmed by the last rays of the sun, the 
bare hills here glowing, there dark, the scattered 
wood-clumps and spinneys that filled the angles 
of the river, even the dusky line of holm-oaks that 
crowned the ridge beyond — Caylus way. So 


2l8 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


near our own country there might be help ! If 
the messenger whom we had despatched to the 
Vicomte before leaving home had reached him, 
our uncle might have returned, and even be in 
Cahors to meet us. 

But no party appeared in sight : and I saw no 
place where an ambush could be lying. I re- 
membered that no tidings of our present plight 
or of what had happened could have reached the 
Vicomte. The hope faded out of life as soon as 
despair had given it birth. We must fend for 
ourselves and for Kit. 

That was my justification. I leaned from my 
saddle towards Croisette — I was riding by his 
side — and muttered, as I felt my horse’s head 
and settled myself firmly in the stirrups, “You 
remember what I said ? Are you ready ? ” 

He looked at me in a startled way, with a face 
showing white in the shadow : and from me to 
the one solitary figure seated like a pillar a score 
of paces in front, with no one between us and it. 
“ There need be but two of us,” I muttered, loos- 
ening my sword. “Shall it be you or Marie? 
The others must leap their horses out of the road 
in the confusion, cross the river at the Arembal 
Ford if they are not overtaken, and make for 
Caylus.” 

He hesitated. I do not know whether it had 
anything to do with his hesitation that at that 
moment the cathedral bell in the town below us 
began to ring slowly for Vespers. Yes, he hesi- 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


219 


tated. He — a Caylus. Turning to him again, 
I repeated my question impatiently. “Which 
shall it be? A moment, and we shall be moving 
on, and it will be too late.” 

He laid his hand hurriedly on my bridle, and 
began a rambling answer. Rambling as it was 
I gathered his meaning. It was enough for me ! 
I cut him short with one word of fiery indigna- 
tion, and turned to Marie and spoke quickly. 

“Will you, then ? ” I said. 

But Marie shook his head in perplexity, and 
answering little, said the same. 

So it happened a second time. 

Strange ! Yet strange as it seemed, I was not 
greatly surprised. Under other circumstances I 
should have been beside myself with anger at the 
defection. Now I felt as if I had half expected 
it, and without further words of reproach I 
dropped my head and gave it up. I passed again 
into the stupor of endurance. The Vidame was 
too strong for me. It was useless to fight against 
him. We were under the spell. When the troop 
moved forward, I went with them, silent and 
apathetic. 

We passed through the gate of Cahors, and no 
doubt the scene was worthy of note ; but I had 
only a listless eye for it — much such an eye as a 
man about to be broken on the wheel must have 
for that curious instrument, supposing him never 
to have seen it before. The whole population 
had come out to line the streets through which 


220 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


we rode, and stood gazing, with scarcely veiled 
looks of apprehension, at the procession of 
troopers and the stern face of the new governor. 

We dismounted passively in the courtyard 
of the castle, and were for going in together, 
when Bure intervened. “ M. de Pavannes,” he 
said, pushing rather rudely between us, “will 
sup alone to-night. For you, gentlemen, this 
way, if you please.” 

I went without remonstrance. What was the 
use ? I was conscious that the Vidame from the 
top of the stairs leading to the grand entrance 
was watching us with a wolfish glare in his eyes. 
I went quietly. But I heard Croisette urging 
something with passionate energy. 

We were led through a low doorway to a room 
on the ground floor ; a place very like a cell. 
Here we took our meal in silence. When it was 
over I flung myself on one of the beds prepared 
for us, shrinking from my companions rather in 
misery than in resentment. 

No explanation had passed between us. Still I 
knew that the other two from time to time eyed 
me doubtfully. I feigned therefore to be asleep, 
but I heard Bure enter to bid us good-night — and 
see that we had not escaped. And I was con- 
scious too of the question Croisette put to him, 
“ Does M. de Pavannes lie alone to-night, Bure? ” 

“Not entirely,” the captain answered with 
gloomy meaning. Indeed he seemed in bad 
spirits himself, or tired. “The Vidame is anx- 


A NIGHT OF SORROW 


221 


ious for his soul’s welfare, and sends a priest to 
him. ” 

They sprang to their feet at that. But the light 
and its bearer, who so far recovered himself as 
to chuckle at his master’s pious thought, had dis- 
appeared. They were left to pace the room, and 
reproach themselves and curse the Vidame in an 
agony of late repentance. Not even Marie could 
find a loop-hole of escape from here. The door 
was double-locked ; the windows so barred that 
a cat could scarcely pass through them ; the 
walls were of solid masonry. 

Meanwhile I lay and feigned to sleep, and lay 
feigning through long, long hours ; though my 
heart like theirs throbbed in response to the duli 
hammering that presently began without, and 
not far from us, and lasted until daybreak. From 
our windows, set low and facing a wall, we could 
see nothing. But we could guess what the noise 
meant, the dull, earthy thuds when posts were 
set in the ground, the brisk, wooden clattering 
when one plank was laid to another. We could 
not see the progress of the work, or hear the 
voices of the workmen, or catch the glare of their 
lights. But we knew what they were doing. 
They were raising the scaffold. 


222 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


CHAPTER XII. 

JOY IN THE MORNING. 

I was too weary with riding to go entirely with- 
out sleep. And moreover it is anxiety and the 
tremor of excitement which make the pillow sleep- 
less, not, heaven be thanked, sorrow. God made 
man to lie awake and hope : but never to lie awake 
and grieve. An hour or two before daybreak I 
fell asleep, utterly worn out. When I awoke, the 
sun was high, and shining slantwise on our win- 
dow. The room was gay with the morning rays, 
and soft with the morning freshness, and I lay a 
while, my cheek on my. hand, drinking in the 
cheerful influence as I had done many and many 
a day in our room at Caylus. It was the touch 
of Marie’s hand, laid timidly on my arm, which 
roused me with a shock to consciousness. The 
truth broke upon me. I remembered where we 
were, and what was before us. “ Will you get 
up, Anne?” Croisette said. “The Vidame has 
sent for us.” 

I got to my feet, and buckled on my sword. 
Croisette was leaning against the wall, pale and 
downcast. Bure filled the open doorway, his 


223 


Jr* 

JO Y IN THE MORNING 

feathered cap in his hand, a queer smile on his 
face. “You are a good sleeper, young gentle- 
man/’ he said. “You should have a good con. 
science.” 

“Better than yours, no doubt ! ” I retorted, “or 
your masters.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and, bidding us by 
a sign to follow him, led the way through several 
gloomy passages. At the end of these, a flight of 
stone steps leading upwards seemed to promise 
| something better : and true enough, the door at 
the top being opened, the murmur of a crowd 
I reached our ears, with a burst of sunlight and 
warmth. We were in a lofty room, with walls in 
some places painted, and elsewhere hung with 
tapestry ; well lighted by three old pointed win- 
dows reaching to the rush-covered floor. The 
room was large, set here and there with stands of 
arms, and had a dais with a raised carved chair 
at one end. The ceiling was of blue, with gold 
stars set about it. Seeing this, I remembered the 
place. I had been in it once, years ago, when I 
had attended the Vicomte on a state visit to the 
governor. Ah! that the Vicomte were here 
now ! 

I advanced to the middle window, which was 
open. Then I started back, for outside was the 
scaffold built level with the floor, and rush-covered 
like it ! Two or three people were lounging on it. 
My eyes sought Louis among the group, but in 
vain. He was not there : and while I looked for 


224 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


him I heard a noise behind me, and he came in, 
guarded by four soldiers with pikes. 

His face was pale and grave, but perfectly com- 
posed. There was a wistful look in his eyes in- 
deed, as if he were thinking of something or some 
one far away — Kit’s face on the sunny hills of 
Quercy where he had ridden with her, perhaps ; a 
look which seemed to say that the doings here 
were nothing to him, and the parting was yonder 
where she was. But his bearing was calm and 
collected, his step firm and fearless. When he 
saw us, indeed his face lightened a moment and 
he greeted us cheerfully, even acknowledging 
Bure’s salutation with dignity and good temper. 
Croisette sprang towards him impulsively, and 
cried his name— Croisette ever the first to speak. 
But before Louis could grasp his hand, the door 
at the bottom of the hall was swung open, and the 
Vidame came hurriedly in. 

He was alone. He glanced round, his forbid- 
ding face, which was somewhat flushed as if by 
haste, wearing a scowl. Then he saw us, and, 
nodding haughtily, strode up the floor, his spurs 
clanking heavily on the boards. He gave us no 
greeting, but by a short word dismissed Bure and 
the soldiers to the lower end of the room. And 
then he stood and looked at us four, but princi- 
pally at his rival ; and looked, and looked with 
eyes of smouldering hate. And there was a 
silence, a long silence, while the murmur of the 
crowd came almost cheerfully through the win- 


JOY IN THE MORNING 


225 


dow, and the sparrows under the eaves chirped 
and twittered, and the heart that throbbed least 
painfully was, I do believe, Louis de Pavannes’ ! 

At last Bezers broke the silence. 

“ M. de Pavannes ! ” he began, speaking 
hoarsely, yet concealing all passion under a 
cynical smile and a mock politeness, “ M. de Pa- 
vannes, I hold the king’s commission to put to 
death all the Huguenots within my province of 
I Quercy. Have you anything to say, I beg, why 
should I not begin with you ? Or do you wish to 
return to the Church ? ” 

Louis shrugged his shoulders as in contempt, 
and held his peace. I saw his captor’s great 
hands twitch convulsively at this, but still the Vi- 
dame mastered himself, and when he spoke again 
he spoke slowly. “Very well,” he continued, 
taking no heed of us, the silent witnesses of this 
strange struggle between the two men, but eye- 
ing Louis only. “You have wronged me more 
than any man alive. Alive or dead ! or dead ! 
You have thwarted me, M. de Pavannes, and 
taken from me the woman I loved. Six days 
ago I might have killed you. I had it in my 
power. I had but to leave you to the rabble, 
remember, and you would have been rotting at 
Montfaucon to-day, M. de Pavannes.” 

“ That is true, ” said Louis quietly. “Why so 
many words ? ” 

But the Vidame went on as if he had not heard. 
<< I did not leave you to them,” he resumed, 

*5 


226 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

“and yet I hate you — more than I ever hated 
any man yet, and I am not apt to forgive. But 
now the time has come, sir, for my revenge ! 
The oath I swore to your mistress a fortnight ago 

I will keep to the letter. I Silence, babe ! ” 

he thundered, turning suddenly, “ or I will keep 
my word with you too ! ” 

Croisette had muttered something, and this had 
drawn on him the glare of Bezers’ eyes. But the 
threat was effectual. Croisette was silent. The 
two were left henceforth to one another. 

Yet the Vidame seemed to be put out by the 
interruption. Muttering a string of oaths he 
strode from us to the window and back again. 
The cool cynicism with which he was wont to 
veil his anger and impose on other men, while it 
heightened the effect of his ruthless deeds, in part 
fell from him. He showed himself as he was — • 
masterful, and violent, hating, with all the 
strength of a turbulent nature which had never 
known a check. I quailed before him myself. I 
confess it. 

“ Listen ! ” he continued harshly, coming back 
and taking his place in front of us at last, his 
manner more violent than before the interruption. 
“■ I might have left you to die in that hell yon- 
der ! And I did not leave you. I had but to 
hold my hand and you would have been torn to 
pieces ! The wolf, however, does not hunt with 
the rats, and a Bezers wants no help in his ven- 
geance from king or canaille ! When I hunt my 


JOY IN THE MORNING 


227 




enemy down I will hunt him alone, do you hear ? 
And as there is a heaven above me ” — he paused 
a moment — “if I ever meet you face to face 
again, M. de Pavannes, I will kill you where you 
stand ! ” 

He paused, and the murmur of the crowd with- 
out came to my ears ; but mingled with and 
heightened by some confusion in my thoughts, 
I struggled feebly with this, seeing a rush of color 
to Croisette’s face, a lightening in his eyes as if 
a veil had been raised from before them. Some 
confusion — for I thought I grasped the Vidame’s 
meaning ; yet there he was still glowering on his 
victim with the same grim visage, still speaking 
in the same rough tone. “Listen, M. de Pa- 
vannes,” he continued, rising to his full height 
and waving his hand with a certain majesty 
towards the window — no one had spoken. “The 
doors are open ! Your mistress is at Caylus. 
The road is clear, go to her ; go to her, and tell 
her that I have saved your life, and that I give it 
to you not out of love, but out of hate ! If you 
had flinched I would have killed you, for so you 
would have suffered most, M. de Pavannes. As 
it is, take your life — a gift ! and suffer as I should 
if I were saved and spared by my enemy ! ” 

Slowly the full sense of his words came home 
to me. Slowly ; not in its full completeness in- 
deed until I heard Louis in broken phrases, 
phrases half proud and half humble, thanking him 

r his generosity. Even then I almost lost the 


228 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 

true and wondrous meaning of the thing when I 
heard his answer. For he cut Pavannes snort 
with bitter caustic gibes, spurned his proffered 
gratitude with insults, and replied to his acknowl- 
edgments with threats. 

“Go! go!'" he continued to cry violently. 
“Have I brought you so far safely that you will 
cheat me of my vengeance at the last, and pro- 
voke me to kill you ? Away ! and take these 
blind puppies with you ! Reckon me as much 
your enemy now as ever ! And if I meet you, be 
sure you will meet a foe ! Begone, M. de Pa- 
vannes, begone ! ” 

“But, M. de Bezers,” Louis persisted, “hear 
me. It takes two to ” 

“Begone ! begone ! before we do one another 
a mischief ! ” cried the Vidame furiously. ‘ ‘ Every 
word you say in that strain is an injury to me. 
It robs me of my vengeance. Go ! in God’s 
name ! ” 

And we went ; for there was no change, no 
promise of softening in his malignant aspect as he 
spoke ; nor any as he stood and watched us draw 
off slowly from him. We went one by one, each 
lingering after the other, striving, out of a natural 
desire to thank him, to break through that stern 
reserve. But grim and unrelenting, a picture of 
scorn to the last, he saw us go. 

My latest memory of that strange man — still 
fresh after a lapse of two and fifty years — is of 
a huge form towering in the gloom below the 


JOY IN THE MORNING 


229 


state canopy, the sunlight which poured in 
through the windows and flooded us, falling short 
of him ; of a pair of fierce cross eyes, that seemed 
to glow as they covered us ; of a lip that curled 
as in the enjoyment of some cruel jest. And so 
I — and I think each of us four — saw the last of 
Raoul de Mar, Vidame de Bezers, in this life. 

He was a man whom we cannot judge by to- 
day’s standard ; for he was such an one in his 
vices and his virtues as the present day does not 
know ; one who in his time did immense evil — 
and if his friends be believed, little good. But 
the evil is forgotten ; the good lives. And if all 
that good save one act were buried with him, 
this one act alone, the act of a French gentle- 
man, would be told of him — ay ! and will be 
told — as long as the kingdom of France, and the 
gracious memory of the late king, shall endure. 

****** 

I see again by the simple process of shutting 
my eyes, the little party of five — for Jean, our 
servant, had rejoined us — who on that summer 
day rode over the hills to Caylus, threading the 
mazes of the holm-oaks, and galloping down the 
rides, and hallooing the hare from her form, but 
never pursuing her ; arousing the nestling farm- 
houses from their sleepy stillness by joyous 
shout and laugh, and sniffing, as we climbed 
the hill-side again, the scent of the ferns that 
died crushed under our horses’ hoofs — died only 


230 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


that they might add one little pleasure more to 
the happiness God had given us. Rare and 
sweet indeed are those few days in life, when it 
seems that all creation lives only that we may 
have pleasure in it, and thank God for it. It is 
well that we should make the most of them, as 
we surely did of that day. 

It was nightfall when we reached the edge of 
the uplands, and looked down on Caylus. The 
last rays of the sun lingered with us, but the 
valley below was dark ! so dark that even the 
rock about which our homes clustered would 
have been invisible save for the half-dozen lights 
that were beginning to twinkle into being on its 
summit. A silence fell upon us as we slowly 
wended our way down the well-known path. 

All day long we had ridden in great joy ; if 
thoughtless, yet innocent ; if selfish, yet thank- 
ful ; and always blithely, with a great exultation 
and relief at heart, a great rejoicing for our own 
sakes and for Kit’s. 

Now with the nightfall and the darkness, now 
when we were near our home, and on the eve of 
giving joy to another, we grew silent. There 
arose other thoughts — thoughts of all that had 
happened since we had last ascended that track ; 
and so our minds turned naturally back to him to 
whom we owed our happiness — to the giant left 
behind in his pride and power and his loneliness. 
The others could think of him with full hearts, 
yet without shame. But I reddened, reflecting 


JOY IN THE MORNING 


231 


how it would have been with us if I had had my 
way ; if I had resorted in my shortsightedness to 
one last violent, cowardly deed, and killed him, 
as I had twice wished to do. 

Pavannes would then have been lost — almost 
certainly. Only the Vidame with his powerful 
troop — we never knew whether he had gathered 
them for that purpose or merely with an eye to 
his government — could have saved him. And 
few men however powerful — perhaps Bezers only 
of all men in Paris — would have dared to snatch 
him from the mob when once it had sighted him. 
I dwell on this now that my grandchildren may 
take warning by it, though never will they see 
such days as I have seen. 

And so we clattered up the steep street of 
Caylus with a pleasant melancholy upon us, and 
passed, not without a more serious thought, the 
gloomy, frowning portals, all barred and shut- 
tered, of the House of the Wolf, and under the 
very window, sombre and vacant, from which 
Bezers had incited the rabble in their attack on 
Pavannes’ courier. We had gone by day, and 
we came back by night. But we had gone 
trembling, and we came back in joy. 

We did not need to ring the great bell. Jean’s 
cry, “Ho! Gate there! Open for my lords!” 
had scarcely passed his lips before we were 
admitted. And ere we could mount the ramp, 
one person outran those who came forth to see 
Vfhat the matter was ; on^ outran Madame 


232 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


Claude, outran old Gil, outran the hurrying 
servants, and the welcome of the house. I saw 
a slender figure all in white break away from the 
little crowd and dart towards us, disclosing as it 
reached me a face that seemed still whiter than 
its robes, and yet a face that seemed all eyes — 
eyes that asked the question the lips could not 
frame. 

I stood aside with a low bow, my hat in my 
hand ; and said simply — it was the great effect of 
my life — “ Voila Monsieur ! ” 

And then I saw the sun rise in a woman’s face. 

***** * 

The Vidame de Bezers died as he had lived. 
He was still Governor of Cahors when Henry the 
Great attacked it on the night of the 17th of June, 
1580. Taken by surprise and wounded in the 
first confusion of the assault, he still defended 
himself and his charge with desperate courage, 
fighting from street to street, and house to house 
for five nights and as many days. While he 
lived Henry’s destiny and the fate of France 
trembled in the balance. But he fell at length, 
his brain pierced by the ball of an arquebuse, 
and died an hour before sunset on the 2 2d of 
June. The garrison immediately surrendered. 

Marie and I were present in this action on the 
side of the King of Navarre, and at the request of 
that prince hastened to pay such honors to the 
body of the Vidame as were due to his renown 


JOY IN THE MORNING 


2 33 


and might serve to evince our gratitude. A year 
later his remains were removed from Cahors, and 
laid where they now rest in his own Abbey 
Church of Bezers, under a monument which very 
briefly tells of his stormy life and his valor. No 
matter. He has small need of a monument 
whose name lives in the history of his country, 
and whose epitaph is written in the lives of men. 

Note. — The character and conduct of the 
Vidame de Bezers , as they appear in the above 
Memoir find a parallel in a?i account given by De 
Thou of one of the most remarkable incidents in the 
Massacre of St. Bartholomew : “ Amid such ex- 
amples,” he writes , “ of the ferocity of the city, a 
thing happened worthy to be related , and which 
may perhaps in some degree weigh against these 
atrocities. There was a deadly hatred , which up to 
this time the intervention of their friends and 
neighbors had failed to appease , between two men 
— Vezins, the lieutenant of Honor atus of Savoy , 
Marshal Villars, a man notable among the nobility 
of the province for his valor, but obnoxious to many 
owing to his brutal disposition (ferina natura), and 
Regnier , a young man of like rank and vigor , but 
of milder character. When Regnier then , in the 
middle of that great uproar , death meeting his eye 
everywhere , was making up his mind to the worst 
his door was suddenly burst open , and Vezins , 
with two other men, stood before him sword in 
hand. Upon this Regnier , assured of death , knelt 


234 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF 


down and asked mercy of heaven : hut Vezins in a 
harsh voice hid him rise from his prayers and 
mount a palfrey already standing ready in the 
street for him. So he led Regnier — uncertain for 
the time whither he was being taken — out of the 
city , and put him on his honor to go with him with - 
out hying to escape. And together , without paus- 
ing on their journey , the two travelled all the way to 
Guienne. During this time Vezins honored Regnier 
with very little conversation ; hut so far cared for 
him that food was prepared for him at the inns hy 
his servants : and so they came to Quercy and the 
castle of Regnier. There Vezins turned to him , 
and said , “ You know how I have for a long time 
hack sought to avenge myself on you , and how easily 
I might now have done it to the full, had I been will- 
ing to use this opportunity. But shame would not 
suffer it ; and besides, your courage seemed worthy 
to be set against mine on even terms. Take there- 
fore the life which you owe to my kindness. 7 ’ 
With much more which the curious will find in the 
2nd (folio) volume of De Thou. 


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Havergal. “ Will perpetuate her name.” 

a MY KING AND HIS SERVICE, OR DAILY 
THOUGHTS FOR THE KING’S CHILDREN, 

by Frances Ridley Havergal. “ Simple, tender, gentle, 
and full of Christian love.” 

3 MY POINT OF VIEW. Selections from the works of 

Professor Henry Drummond. 

4 OF THE IMITATION OF CHRIST, by Thomas 

A'Kempis. “ With the exception of the Bible it is 
probably the book most read in Christian literature.” 

5 ADDRESSES, by Professor Henry Drummond. “ Intel- 

ligent sympathy with the Christian’s need.” 

6 NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL WORLD, 

by Professor Henry Drummond. “ A most notable 
book which has earned for the author a world-wide 
reputation.” 

7 ADDRESSES, by the Rev. Phillips Brooks. “Has 

exerted a marked influence over the rising generation.” 

8 ABIDE IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life of 

Fellowship with the Son of God. By the Rev. Andrew 
Murray. It cannot fail to stimulate and cheer. — 
Spurgeon. 

9 LIKE CHRIST. Thoughts on the Blessed Life of Con- 

formity to the Son of God. By the Rev. Andrew 
Murray. A sequel to “ Abide in Christ.” “May be 
read with comfort and edification by all.” 

io WITH CHRIST IN THE SCHOOL OF PRAYER, 

by the Rev Andrew Murray. “ The best work on 
prayer in the language.” 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 

11 HOLY IN CHRIST. Thoughts on the Calling of God’s 

Children to be Holy as He is Holy. By the Rev. 
Andrew Murray. “ This sacred theme is tieated Scrip- 
turally and robustly without spurious sentimentalism.” 

12 THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST, by Thomas Hughes, 

author of” Tom Brown’s School Days,” etc. “ Evi- 
dences of the sublimest courage and manliness in 
the boyhood, ministry, and in the last acts of Christ’s 
life.” 

13 ADDRESSES TO YOUNG MEN, by the Rev. Henry 

Ward Beecher. Seven Addresses on common vices and 
their results. 

14 THE PATHWAY OF SAFETY, by the Rt. Rev. Ash- 

ton Oxenden, D.D. Sound words of advice and encour- 
agement on the text “ What must I do to be saved?” 

15 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE, by the Rt. Rev. Ashton 

Oxenden, D. D. A beautiful delineation of an ideal life 
from the conversion to the final reward. 

16 THE THRONE OF GRACE. Before which the bur- 

dened soul may cast itself on the bosom of infinite love 
and enjoy in prayer” a peace which passeth all under- 
standing.” 

17 THE PATHWAY OF PROMISE, by the author of 

‘‘The Throne of Grace.” Thoughts consolatory and 
encouraging to the Christian pilgrim as he journeys 
onward to his heavenly home. 

i 3 THE IMPREGNABLE ROCK OF HOLY SCRIP- 
TURE. by the Rt. Hon William Ewart Gladstone, 
M. P. The most masterly defence of the truths of the 
Bible extant. The author says : The Christian Faith 
and the Holy Scriptures arm us with the means of neu- 
tralizing and repeliing the assaults of evil in and from 
ourselves. 

19 STEPS INTO THE BLESSED LIFE, by the Rev. F. 
B. Meyer, B. A. A powerful help towards sanctifica- 
tion. 

ao THE MESSAGE OF PEACE, by the Rev. Richard W. 

Church, D. D. Eight excellent sermons on the advent 
of the Babe of Bethlehem and his influence and effect 
on the world. 

21 JOHN PLOUGHMAN’S TALK, by the Rev. Charles 

H. Spurgeon. 

22 JOHN PLOUGHMAN’S PICTURES, by the Rev. 

Charles H. Spurgeon. 

23 THE CHANGED CROSS; AND OTHER RE- 

LIGIOUS POEMS. 


ALTEMUS’ ETERNAL LIFE SERIES. 


Selections from the writings of well-known religious 
authors, beautifully printed and daintily bound 
with original designs in silver and ink. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS PER VOLUME. 


1 ETERNAL LIFE, by Professor Henry Drummond. 

2 LORD, TEACH US TO PRAY, by Rev. Andrew Murray. 

3 GOD’S WORD AND GOD’S WORK, by Martin Luther. 

4 FAITy, by Thomas Arnold. 

5 THE CREATION STORY, by Honorable William E. 

Gladstone. 

6 THE MESSAGE OF COMFORT, by Rt. Rev. Ashton 

Oxenden 

7 THE MESSAGE OF PEACE, by Rev. R. W. Church. 

8 THE LORD’S PRAYER AND THE TEN COM- 

MANDMENTS. by Dean Stanley. 

9 THE MEMOIRS OFJESUS, by Rev. Robert F. Horton, 
io HYMNS OF PRAISE AND GLADNESS, by Elisabeth 

R. Scovil 

n DIFFICULTIES, by Hannah Whitall Smith. 

12 GAMBLERS AND GAMBLING, by Rev. Henry Ward 

Beecher. 

13 HAVE FAITH IN GOD, by Rev. Andrew Murray. 

14 TWELVE CAUSES OF DISHONESTY, by Rev. Henry 

W ard Bccchcr. 

15 THE CHRIST IN WHOM CHRISTIANS BELIEVE, 

by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. 

16 IN MY NAME, by Rev. Andrew Murray. 

17 SIX WARNINGS, by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. 

18 THE DUTY OF THE CHRISTIAN BUSINESSMAN, 

by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. 

19 POPULAR AMUSEMENTS, by Rev. Henry Ward 

Beecher. 

20 TRUE LIBERTY, by Rt. Rev Phillips Brooks. 

21 INDUSTRY AND IDLENESS, by Rev. Henry Ward 

Beecher 

22 THE BEAUTY OF A LIFE OF SERVICE, by Rt. 

Rev. Phillips Brooks. 

23 THE SECOND COMING OF OUR LORD, by Rev. A. 

T. Pierson, D D. 

24 THOUGHT AND ACTION, by Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. 

25 THE HEAVENLY VISION, by Rev. F. B Meyer 

26 MORNING STRENGTH, by Elisabeth R. Scovil. 

27 FOR THE QUIET HOUR, by Edith V. Bradt. 

28 EVENING COMFORT, by Elisabeth R. Scovil 

29 WORDS OF HELP FOR CHRISTIAN GIRLS, by 

Rev. F B. Meyer. 

30 HOW TO STUDY THE BIBLE, by Rev. Dwight L. 

Moody 

31 EXPECTATION CORNER, by E. S. Elliot. 

32 JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER, by Hesba Stratton. 


ALTEMUS’ BELLES-LETTRES SERIES. 


A collection of Essays and Addresses by eminent 
English and American Authors, beautifully 
printed and daintily bound, with 
original designs in silver. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS PER VOLUME. 


1 INDEPENDENCE DAY, by Rev. Edward E. Hale. 

2 THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS, by Hon. Richard Olney. 

3 THE YOUNG MAN IN BUSINESS, by Edward W. Bok. 

4 THE YOUNG MAN AND THE CHURCH, by Edward 

W. Bok. 

5 THE SPOILS SYSTEM, by Hon. Carl Schurz. 

6 CONVERSATION, by Thomas DeQuincey. 

7 SWEETNESS AND LIGHT, by Matthew Arnold. 

8 WORK, by John Ruskin. 

g NATURE AND ART, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
io THE USE AND MISUSE OF BOOKS, by Frederic 
Harrison. 

ix THE MONROE DOCTRINE: ITS ORIGIN, MEAN- 
ING AND APPLICATION, by Prof. John Bach 
McMaster (University of Pennsylvania). 

12 THE DESTINY OF MAN, by Sir John Lubbock. 

13 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

14 RIP VAN WINKLE, by Washington Irving. 

15 ART, POETRY AND MUSIC, by Sir John Lubbock. 

16 THE CHOICE OF BOOKS, by Sir John Lubbock. 

17 MANNERS, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

18 CHARACTER, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

19 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW, by Wash- 

ington Irving. 

20 THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE, by Sir John Lubbock. 

21 SELF RELIANCE, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

22 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS, by Sir John Lubbock. 

23 SPIRITUAL LAWS, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

24 OLD CHRISTMAS, by Washington Irving 

25 HEALTH. WEALTH AND THE BLESSING OF 

FRIEND^, by Sir John Lubbock. 

26 INTELLECT, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

27 WHY AMERICANS DISLIKE ENGLAND, by Prof. 

Geo B. Adanis (Yale). 

28 THE HIGHER EDUCATION AS A TRAINING FOR 

BUSINESS, by Prof. Harry Pratt Judson (University 
of Chicago). 

29 MISS TOOSEY’S MISSION. 

30 LADDIE. 

31 J. COLE, by Emma Gellibrand. 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


ALTEMUS’ NEW ILLUSTRATED 
VADEMECUM SERIES. 


Masterpieces of English and American Literature, Handy 
Volume Size, Large Type Editions. Each Volume 
Contains Illuminated Title Pages, and Portrait 
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1 CRANFORD, by Mrs. Gaskell. 

2 A WINDOW IN THRUMS, by J. M. Barrie. 


3 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS, MARJORIE FLEM- 

ING, ETC., by John Brown, M. D. 

4 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, by Oliver Goldsmith. 


5 THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW, 

by Jerome K. Jerome. “ A book for an idle holiday.” 

6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE, by Charles and Mary 

Lamb, with an introduction by the Rev. Alfred Ainger, 
M. D. 

7 SESAME AND LILIES, by John Ruskin. 

Three Lectures — I. Of the King’s Treasures. II. Of 
Queen’s Garden. III. Of the Mystery of Life. 

8 THE ETHICS OF THE DUST, by John Ruskin. Ten 

lectures to little housewives on the elements of crystali- 
zation. 

g THE PLEASURES OF LIFE, by Sir John Lubbock. 
Complete in one volume. 

10 THE SCARLET LETTER, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

11 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES, by 

Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

12 MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE, by Nathaniel 

Hawthorne. 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus’ New Illustrated Vademecum Series — 
continued. 


13 TWICE TOLD TALES, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. 


14 THE ESSAYS OF FRANCIS (LORD) BACON 

WITH MEMOIRS AND NOTES. 

15 ESSAYS, First Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

16 ESSAYS, Second Series, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

17 REPRESENTATIVE MEN, by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Mental portraits each representing a class. 1. The 
Philosopher. 2. The Mystic. 3. The Skeptic. 4, The 
Poet. 5. The Man of the World. 6. The Writer. 

18 THOUGHTS OF THE EMPEROR MARCUS 

AURELIUS ANTONINUS, translated by George 
Long. 

19 THE DISCOURSES OF EPICTETUS WITH THE 

ENCHIRIDION, translated by George Long. 


20 OF THE IMITATION OF CHRIST, by Thomas 

A'Kempis. Four books complete in one volume. 

21 ADDRESSES, by Professor Henry Drummond. The 

Greatest Thing in the World; Pax Vobiscum; The 
Changed Life; How to Learn How; Dealing With 
Doubt ; Preparation for Learning ; What is a Chris- 
tian ; The Study of the Bible ; A Talk on Books. 

22 LETTERS, SENTENCES AND MAXIMS, by Lord 

Chesterfield. Masterpieces of good taste, good writing 
and good sense. 

23 REVERIES OF A BACHELOR. A book of the 

heart. By Ik Marvel. 

24 DREAM LIFE, by Ik Marvel. A companion to “ Reve- 

ries of a Bachelor.” 

25 SARTOR RESARTUS, by Thomas Carlyle. 

26 HEROES AND HERO WORSHIP, by Thomas Car- 

lyle. 

27 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN, by Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

28 ESSAYS OF ELIA, by Charles Lamb. 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus’ New Illustrated Vademecum Series — 
continued. 


29 MY POINT OF VIEW. Representative selections from 

the works of Professor Henry Drummond by William 
Shepard. 

30 THE SKETCH BOOK, by Washington Irving. Com- 

plete. 

31 KEPT FOR THE MASTER’S USE, by Frances 

Ridley Havergal. 

32 LUCILE, by Owen Meredith. 

33 LALLA ROOKH, by Thomas Moore. 

34 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, by Sir Walter Scott. 


35 MARMION, by Sir Walter Scott. 

36 THE PRINCESS ; AND MAUD, by Alfred (Lord) 

Tennyson. 

37 CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE, by Lord 

Byron. 

38 IDYLLS OF THE KING, by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 

39 EVANGELINE, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

40 VOICES OF THE NIGHT AND OTHER POEMS, 

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

41 THE QUEEN OF THE AIR, by John Ruskin. A 

study of the Greek myths of cloud and storm. 

42 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER 

POEMS, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 


43 POEMS, Volume I, by John Greenleaf Whittier. 


44 POEMS, Volume II, by John Greenleaf Whittier. 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus’ New Illustrated Vademecum Series — 
continued. 

45 THE RAVEN; AND OTHER POEMS, by Edgar 

Allan Poe. 

46 THANATOPSIS;AND OTHER POEMS, by William 

Cullen Bryant. 

47 THE LAST LEAFlAND OTHER POEMS, by Oliver 

Wendell Holmes. 

48 THE HEROES OR GREEK FAIRY TALES, by 

Charles Kingsley. 

4g A WONDER BOOK, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

50 UNDINE, by de La Motte Fouque. 

51 ADDRESSES, by the Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks. 

52 BALZAC’S SHORTER STORIES, by Plonore de 

Balzac. 

53 TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST, by Richard 

H. Dana, Jr. 

54 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. An Autobiography. 

55 THE LAST ESSAYS OF ELIA, by Charles Lamb. 

56 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS, by Thomas 

Hughes. 

57 WEIRD TALES, by Edgar Allan Poe. 

58 THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE, by John Ruskin. 

Three lectures on Work, Traffic and War. 

5g NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL WORLD, 

by Professor Henry Drummond. 

60 ABBE CONSTANTIN, by Ludovic Halevy. 

61 MANON LESCAUT, by Abbe Prevost. 



HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus’ New Illustrated Vademecum Series — 
continued. 


62 THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN, by 

Octave Feuillet. 

63 BLACK BEAUTY, by Anna Sewell. 

64 CAMILLE, by Alexander Dumas, Jr. 

65 THE LIGHT OF ASIA, by Sir Edwin Arnold. 

66 THE LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME, by Thomas 

Babington Macaulay. 

67 THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM- 

EATER, by Thomas De Quincey. 

68 TREASURE ISLAND, by Robert L. Stevenson. 

69 CARMEN, by Prosper Merimee. 

70 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY, by Laurence Sterne. 

71 THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE, by Nathaniel 

Haw'thorne. 

72 BAB BALLADS, AND SAVOY SONGS, by W. H. 

Gilbert. 

73 FANCHON, THE CRICKET, by George Sand. 

74 POEMS, by James Russell Lowell. 

75 JOHN PLOUGHMAN’S TALK, by the Rev. Charles 

H. Spurgeon. 

76 JOHN PLOUGHMAN’S PICTURES, by the Rev. 

Charles H. Spurgeon. 

77 THE MANLINESS OF CHRIST, by Thomas 

Hughes. 

78 ADDRESSES TO YOUNG MEN, by the Rev. Henry 

Ward Beecher. 

79 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST 

TABLE, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 


HENRY ALTEMUS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus’ New Illustrated Vademecum Series — 
continued. 


80 MULVANEY STORIES, by Rudyard Kipling. 

81 BALLADS, by Rudyard Kipling. 

82 MORNING THOUGHTS, by Frances Ridley Havergal. 

83 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR ROOM, by '1'. S. Arthur. 

84 EVENING THOUGHTS, by Frances Ridley Havergal. 

85 IN MEMORIAM, by Alfred (Lord) Tennyson. 

86 COMING TO CHRIST, by Frances Ridley* Havergal. 

87 HOUSE OF THE WOLF, by Stanley Weyman. 


AMERICAN POLITICS (non-Partisan), by Hon. Thomas 
V. Cooper. A history of all the Political Parties with their 
views and records on all important questions. All political 
platforms from the beginning to date. Great Speeches on 
Great issues. Parliamentary Practice and tabulated history 
of chronological events. A library without this work is de- 
ficient. 8vo., 750 pages. Cloth, $3.00. Full Sheep Library 
style, $4.00. 

NAMES FOR CHILDREN, by Elisabeth Robinson Scovil, 
author of "The Care of Children,” "Preparation for 
Motherhood.” In family life there is no question of greater 
weight or importance than naming the baby. The author 
gives much good advice and many suggestions on the sub- 
ject. Cloth, i2mo., $ .40. 

TRIF AND TRIXY, by John Habberton, author of "Helen’s 
Babies.” The story is replete with vivid and spirited 
scenes ; atfiri is incomparably the happiest and most de- 
lightful work Mr. Habberton has yet written. Cloth, 
i2mo., $ .35. 






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